“And to which will Miss Beverley answer first,” cried a voice which announced Mr Gosport, “the joy or the sorrow? For so adroitly are they blended, that a common auditor could with difficulty decide, whether condolence, or congratulation should have the precedency.”
“How can you be so excessive horrid,” cried Miss Larolles, “to talk of congratulation, when one's in such a shocking panic that one does not know if one's dead or alive!”
“Dead, then, for any wager,” returned he, “if we may judge by your stillness.”
“I desire, now, you won't begin joking,” cried she, “for I assure you it's an excessive serious affair. I was never so rejoiced in my life as when I found I was not killed. I've been so squeezed you've no notion. I thought for a full hour I had broke both my arms.”
“And my heart at the same time,” said Mr Gosport; “I hope you did not imagine that the least fragile of the three?”
“All our hearts, give me leave to add,” said Captain Aresby—just then advancing, “all our hearts must have been abimés, by the indisposition of Miss Larolles, had not their doom been fortunately revoked by the sight of Miss Beverley.”
“Well, this is excessive odd,”, cried Miss Larolles, “that every body should run away so from poor Mrs Mears; she'll be so affronted you've no idea. I thought, Captain Aresby, you would have stayed to take care of her.”
“I'll run and see how she is myself,” cried Morrice, and away he gallopped.
“Really, ma'am,” said the Captain, “I am quite au desespoir to have failed in any of my devoirs; but I make it a principle to be a mere looker on upon these occasions, lest I should be so unhappy as to commit any faux pas by too much empressement.”
“An admirable caution!” said Mr Gosport, “and, to so ardent a temper, a necessary check!”