"Aunt Bell, mayn't I have it?" screamed little Moll, as she struggled with her brother for the possession of the parasol.
"I will have it first!" roared Tom, dragging the handle from her grasp.
Mr. Boscawen extricated the parasol from their hands, and kept possession of it during their stay in the drawing-room, but no one else attempted to release Christobelle's property from the struggle. Tom Pynsent called their attention from their defeat.
"Now, Tom, catch papa if you can, and show your aunt whether your legs are as stout as your lungs. Moll! Bab! Bill! now for it!"
The drawing-room became a scene of dreadful confusion. Tom Pynsent, delighted to show off his children, and always the foremost to give them pleasure, threaded the mazes of the tables and chairs, while the little ones raced screaming and hallooing after him. Mr. Boscawen sought a retreat from their deafening shouts by quitting the room, and even Anna Maria half closed her eyes, as she assured her sister they made really more noise that day than ever, in compliment, she supposed, to her arrival. Mrs. Pynsent sat with the box of sugarplums on her lap, enjoying the din of voices, and inciting them forward, by clapping her hands and exclaiming:—"Hurrah, my lads and lasses, catch him! Round the chair, Bill!—down you go—up again—well done, my hearty! Halloo there, Moll! Bab, you be hanged!" Mr. Pynsent looked overpowered, but he said nothing.
Such were the sports of Hatton. The commotion continued till both parties, the chaser and the chased, became wearied with their exertions, and then the children wished to go and ride their rocking-horses. Mrs. Pynsent loaded them with sweetmeats and good advice, as she dismissed each from her presence.
"I say, you young Tommy, don't suck your fingers, but look to that poor morsel of a Bill, and don't run over him. If he falls, pick him up, and wipe his nose, like a little gentleman. Here, my Moll in the wad, look at your torn frock, and don't thump Bab upon the back so hard. Never mind, Bab, here's six sugarplums for that thump, and you must give it Moll well, to-morrow. What, Bill, old boy! you must have sugarplums, too, must you? There then, and toddle after them, my sharpshooter. Go all of you to old aunt Hancock."
When the children were gone, Christobelle had time to give her attention to Anna Maria. The elegance of Miss Wetheral had in a great degree lost its tone, but Mrs. Tom Pynsent was fashionably French still in her dress and appearance. Rouging very highly gave an unnatural brilliance to her eyes, and her figure had become enlarged, though not in the same proportion with Isabel: Christobelle thought her handsome and striking, but she was not the pale, still, and interestingly elegant woman, who had volunteered her affections to the stout, good-looking, red-faced Tom Pynsent. Many might have considered Anna Maria improved by the change which had gradually taken place in her appearance; but Christobelle had admired her so greatly in her more youthful days, that her eye could not reconcile itself to her present style. There was, she thought, something too garish in the deeply-rouged cheek and glittering eye of her sister.
Her affection for her husband was quite unchanged: she still spoke of him with powerful affection, and dilated upon his unvaried kindness and good temper with vivacity. During Christobelle's long absence, Tom had never changed towards her in indulgence and interest. Mrs. Pynsent was all that could be desired in a mother-in-law, for her warm heart never fancied she could do enough for those she loved; and poor Mr. Pynsent was in nobody's way. Anna Maria doted upon her children, and she confessed herself to be "the happiest woman in the world, when the children did not fight, but they certainly did fight furiously, and Tom and his mother encouraged it."
Christobelle asked after the health of Félicé.