"I shall consider that day a proud and happy one, which allows me to give you to two of the best of men, after all, my loves. It will be my glory to see you united to men standing high in situation, excellent in conduct, possessing the means of showering luxuries upon you, and placing you at the head of magnificent establishments. Should Clara form an equally wealthy connexion, I should die in peace; but I can only consider Sir Foster Kerrison worthy to be related to you. If he has eleven children, he has immense estates in three counties, and I must manage to get Miss Kerrison to Wetheral. I should fear nothing, if Clara would only keep her temper; but I dread the daughter carrying tales back to Ripley: however, I will manage as well as I can, for something must be effected on my side. Good night, my dear girls; I hope you will have sons, and no daughters, for you cannot know a mother's anxiety about daughters—they depend so entirely upon forming proper establishments. Your poor father would never have interested himself about you. I do believe he would be perfectly satisfied if he considered you destined to live hereafter as spinsters, huddled together in a lodging in Shrewsbury. Be well, Anna Maria; and, in future, you know I have no business to interfere with your rides and drives."
Her ladyship quitted the room, smiling complacently at the remembrance of her successful ruse; and the sisters were left together, to rejoice in and compare their happy prospects.
Lady Wetheral's idea of Mrs. Pynsent's objection, and her short-lived but violent wrath, was exemplified in her conduct, when her son stated his engagement to Miss Wetheral, before his parents, the morning subsequent to his proposal.
"Now hang me, Tom, if I would have believed such a thing from any body's lips but your own. So you have taken a bird out of the Wetheral nest, have you? You have been hunted down, neatly, Master Tom."
"In this particular," replied her son, "I have made my own choice, and my father made no objection when—"
"Who minds your father?" interrupted Mrs. Pynsent; "he never knows what he is about. He says 'yes' to every thing, and looks like a booby besides. Now you may marry the girl, and take Hatton if you please, but I'll be hanged if I notice her! I'm serious, Master Tom."
Tom Pynsent allowed the storm to spend its fury, and Mrs. Pynsent proceeded with increased ire.
"To be gulled into marriage by that woman, Wetheral, drives me wild; but I never saw the man yet, who was not tricked into a trap by an artful woman, in spite of his teeth. Hang the whole set of them, and you too, for being a greater simpleton than your father!"
"If I was a simpleton," observed Mr. Pynsent, quietly, "it was in marrying a masculine lady."
"You be hanged, Bobby! you proposed to every girl you met. I was your fiftieth love, and you knew Sally Hancock and myself loved things out of the common way. I tell you what, Bobby—if Tom marries a Wetheral, you and I leave Shropshire. I won't stay in the country. If I meet her, I'll drive over her, Tom."