“Did Mr. Brown think of marrying your aunt, then, ma'am?” asked Lawless with an air of would-be innocence.
“No, my dear—I mean, Mr. Lawlegh, no—she died, and he went to Merchant Tailor's School together, that is in the same year; we were making it out last night—no, it's Lucy, poor dear, and a famous thing it is for her, only I'm afraid she can't bear the sight of him.”
At this moment Mr. Coleman returned, and Lawless, giving me a sly glance, accosted him with a face of the most perfect gravity, begging the favour of a few minutes' private conversation with him, a request which that gentleman, with a slight appearance of surprise, immediately granted, and they left the room together.
During their absence, good Mrs. Coleman confided to me, with much circumlocution, her own private opinion, that Lucy and Mr. Brown were by no means suited to each other, “because, you see, Mr. Fairless, my dear, Lucy's clever, and says sharp funny things that make one laugh, what they call piquante, you know, and poor Mr. Brown, he's very quiet and good-natured, but he's not used to that sort of thing; and she, what you call, laughs at him”; ending with a confession that she thought Freddy and Lucy were made for each other, and that she had always hoped some day to see them married.
Dear, kind-hearted, puzzle-headed little woman! how I longed to comfort her, by giving her a glimpse behind the scenes! but it would have entailed certain ruin; she would have made confusion worse confounded of the best laid scheme that Machiavelli ever concocted.
When Lawless and Mr. Coleman returned from their tête-à-tête, it was easy to see, by the nattered but perplexed expression discernible in the countenance of the elder, and a grin of mischievous delight in that of the younger gentleman, that the stratagem had succeeded so far, and that a cloud had already shaded the fair hopes of the unconscious Mr. Lowe Brown.
“Ah—a—hem! my dear Mrs. Coleman,” began her spouse, his usually pompous manner having gained an accession of dignity, which to those who guessed the cause of it was irresistibly absurd.
“A-hem—as I am, I believe, right in supposing Mr. Fairlegh is acquainted with the object of his friend's visit—”