"No, thank you, brother."
Miss Boscawen's answers to many affectionate inquiries were equally laconic. Something was wrong, but the cause was equally unintelligible to her brother and sister. The walk, however, was to take place, and, if Miss Boscawen would not be prevailed upon to add to the little party, she would, probably, be kind enough to put off dinner another hour. This change in the dinner arrangement was met with perfect assent by Miss Boscawen.
"Certainly, brother."
Mr. Boscawen looked earnestly at his sister; but there was no ripple on the surface of the water, to detect its agitation: the voice was dry in its tones, but the eye was placid, and the manner quiet and composed; one strong symptom betrayed the disease within to her brother, and upon that symptom he spoke.
"Tabitha, you are vexed about something—tell me what it is."
"I am not vexed, brother."
Mr. Boscawen smiled. "I am sure all is not right, Tabitha; you have made no objection to a single plan proposed, since we entered this room, therefore, you are not pleased with some one of us."
"I am not displeased with you, brother."
"Then my wife has unfortunately offended you."