“Not a whit! it would only fatigue you. The wife for you is Lady Anne Lindsay. She has birth, wit, and beauty, she has no fortune, and she'd readily accept you; and she is such a spirit that she'd animate you, I warrant you! O, she would trim you well! you'd be all alive presently. She'd take all the care of the money affairs,—and allow you out of them eighteen pence a week! That's the wife for you!”
Mr. Seward was by no means “agreeable” to the proposal; he turned the conversation upon the S. S., and gave us an account of two visits he had made her, and spoke in favour of her manner of living, temper, and character. When he had run on in this strain for some time, Mrs. Thrale cried,
“Well, so you are grown very fond of her?”
“Oh dear, no!” answered he, drily, “not at all!”
“Why, I began to think,” said Mrs. Thrale, “you intended to supplant the parson.”
“No, I don't: I don't know what sort of an old woman she'd make; the tears won't do then. Besides, I don't think her so sensible as I used to do.”
“But she's very pleasing,” cried I, “and very amiable.”
“Yes, she's pleasing,—that's certain; but I don't think she reads much; the Greek has spoilt her.”
“Well, but you can read for yourself.”
“That's true; but does she work well?”