"Poor James! I am really sorry for you this time," said his mother, "for I cannot give you much hope of a cure from the process that has hitherto proved so successful.... I see no chance whatever of a "fairer she" coming to cauterize, by a new flame, the wound inflicted by this marvellous Miss Willoughby."
"They jest at scars who never felt a wound!" exclaimed the young man fervently.... "Mary!... Elizabeth!... have you none of you a feeling of pity for me?... Oh! how I envy you all!... for you can gaze and bask in safety in the beams of this glorious brightness, while I, as my mother says, am doomed to be scorched incurably!"
"If you have any discretion, James, you will run away," said his eldest sister.... "Her generous aunt, you know, has declared that she shall never have any of uncle Barnaby's money; and if you stay you may depend upon it that, while you are making love to the niece, I shall be winning the heart of the aunt, and contrive by my amiable cajoleries to get your share and my own too of all she so nobly means to bestow upon us."
"Nonsense, Mary!... Don't believe her, James!..." cried the worthy matter-of-fact Elizabeth. "If you are really in love with her already, I think it would be a very good scheme indeed for you to marry her, because then Mrs. Barnaby could be doing her duty to you both at once."
"Very true, Elizabeth," ... said the mother; "but you none of you recollect that while you have been regaling yourselves with the charms of the young lady, I have been worn to a thread by listening to the noble sentiments of the old ... old?... mercy on me! the elder one. Pray, offer to set off with them, James, in quest of lodgings as soon as breakfast is over to-morrow, for I foresee that I cannot stand it long.... And now go away all of you, for I am tired to death. Good night!... Good night!"
And now let us see the impression made on the aunt and niece by their reception, for, though separate rooms were prepared for them, Mrs. Barnaby did not permit the weary Agnes to enjoy the supreme luxury of this solitary apartment till she had indulged herself with a little gossip.
Mrs. Peters had herself shewn Mrs. Barnaby to her room, at the door of which she was preparing to utter a final good night, but was not permitted to escape without another sisterly embrace, and being held by the hand for some minutes, while the widow said,—
"You know not how soothing it is to my feelings, dearest Margaret!... you must allow me to call you Margaret ... you know not how soothing, how delightful it is to my feelings to lay my head and poor aching heart to rest under the roof of my dear Barnaby's sister!... Alas! none but those who have suffered as I have done, can fully understand this.... And yet I so much wish you to understand me, dearest sister!... I so long to have my heart appreciated by you!... Step in for one moment, will you?"... And the request was seconded by a gentle pulling, which sufficed to bring the imprisoned Mrs. Peters safely within the door.... "I cannot part with you till I have explained a movement ... a rush of sentiment, I may call it,—that has come upon me since I entered this dear dwelling. The time is come, is fully come, you know, when fashion dictates the laying aside this garb of woe; and as my excellent mother brought me up in all things respectfully to follow the usages of society, I have been struggling to do so in the present instance ... and have actually already furnished myself with a needful change of apparel ... never yet, however, dearest Margaret!"—and here she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes,—"never yet have I had the courage to wear it. But, thank Heaven! I now feel strengthened, and when we meet to-morrow you shall see the influence the sight of you and your dear family has had upon me. And now, good night, my sister!... I will detain you no longer,... but do explain to your charming family, dear Margaret! how this sudden change in my appearance has been wrought.... Good night!... But where is Agnes?... Poor love! she will not sleep, even in your elegant mansion, till she has received my parting kiss. She perfectly dotes upon me!... Will you have the kindness to let her be sent to me?"
In the happiest state of spirits from the conscious skill with which she had managed this instantaneous change of garments ... delighted with the unexpected elegance of the house, and all within it ... with her reception, ... and, above all else, with the recollection of the able manner in which she had propitiated the favour of these important relatives by her letter, the widow rang the bell for her Jerningham, and anxiously awaited her arrival and that of her niece, that she might indulge a little in the happy, boastful vein that swelled her bosom.