“You must endeavour by your manner to neutralise your many fascinations,” replied I, striving to hide a smile, for he was evidently in earnest.
“Neutralise my grandmother!” was the rejoinder; “I can't go and be rude to the young woman. How d'ye do, miss?” he continued gruffly; “how d'ye do? you see, we left Fred—” (here I nudged him, to warn him to avoid that subject)—“that is, we left Heathfield,—I mean started early—Let me help you, Mrs. Coleman;—precious tough customer that chicken seems to be—elderly bird, ma'am, and no mistake—who'll have a wing?”
“Really, Mr. Lawless, you are very rude to my poor chicken; it's out of our own farm-yard, I assure you; and the turkey-cock, his sister, that's Lucy's mother, sent him here; she has thirteen children you know, poor thing, and lives at Dorking; they are famous for all having five toes, you know, and growing so very large, and this must be one of them, I think.”
“They were Dorking fowls mamma sent you, aunt; you don't keep turkeys,” interposed Lucy, as Lawless fairly burst out laughing—an example which it was all I could do to avoid imitating.
“Yes, to be sure, my dear, I said so, didn't I? I remember very well they came in a three-dozen hamper, poor things, and were put in the back kitchen because it was too late to turn them out; and as soon as it was light they began to crow, and to make that noise about laying eggs, you know, so that I never got a wink of sleep after, thinking of your poor mother, and all her troubles—thirteen of them, dear me! till Mr. Coleman got up and turned them out, with a bad cold, in his dressing-gown and slippers.”
“Freddy begged me to tell you that he would write to you tomorrow,” observed I, aside to Lucy; adding the enigmatical message, that “he had some good news to communicate, and that matters were not so bad as you imagined.”
“Ah! but it doesn't—he can't know—Mr. Fairlegh,” she added, looking at me with an earnest, inquiring glance; “you are his most intimate friend; has he told you the cause of his annoyance?”
“Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Fairlegh, on the very excellent match your sister is about to make—the Oaklands family is one of the oldest in the county,” said Mr. Coleman with an air of solemn politeness.
“Oh! yes, we are all so glad to hear of it, your sister is so pretty, and we had been told there was some young scamp or other dangling after her.”
“Um! eh? oh! that's rather too much, though,” said Lawless, turning very red, and fidgeting on his chair; “pray may I ask, Mrs. Coleman, whether it was a man you happened to hear that from? because he must be—ar—funny—fellow—ar—worth knowing—ar—I should like to make his acquaintance.”