At dinner, Isabel sat silent. She took her seat at the head of the table, it is true; but her eyes were constantly referring to her husband, and sundry whispers from Miss Boscawen, who sat at her right hand, increased her alarm and confusion. There were some attractive glasses of raspberry-cream upon the table at the second course, to which Isabel "did seriously incline," and she accordingly had one placed before her. Miss Boscawen was distressed.
"Oh! sister, that is the worst thing you could eat at this time! Pray send away that cream! John, take away that cream!"
Isabel's eyes overflowed, as the cream vanished from her sight: Mr. Boscawen saw her disappointment with pity, and endeavoured to mitigate the sentence.
"Tabitha, half a cream will not hurt Isabel: let her try half a cream."
"Oh, brother, the very worst thing my sister could take! No, don't eat a cream, sister."
"I think," said Sir John, "as the parent of five children, I will undertake to answer for the innocence of the cream. Lady Wetheral fancied many extraordinary things, and did not suffer from their effects. I should be inclined to give Isabel that cream, Boscawen."
Mr. Boscawen appeared pleased by an opinion of some weight and experience, which coincided with his own wish to gratify his young wife: he accordingly ordered the cream to be reinstated on her plate. Isabel ate of it greedily.
"Oh, brother!" exclaimed Miss Boscawen, "sister will be so ill!"
Mr. Boscawen, however, enjoyed the eagerness and satisfaction with which Isabel devoured her cream. "Poor thing, poor thing!" he uttered, in a low tone, as Isabel laid down her spoon, and exclaimed, "How excellently good that was!"
"It will do you no harm, my love," said her father, as he watched her with great interest; "I will answer for your not suffering any unpleasant effects."