The children soon burst into the room, and ran bounding round the table. Isabel was all triumphant pleasure. "Now, Charles—my dear Charles, go quietly to papa, and ask him how he does, and whether the cakes are come from merry Scotland. Ah, ha, Charley goes for his cakes. Tom, my beauty, come to mamma; and Bell, go to your aunt—your new aunt, and admire her pretty hair."
Christobelle endeavoured to attract her little fat niece to her side, but she hid her face in Isabel's lap.
"Oh, Bell, I'm ashamed of you!—your pretty aunt, too—oh, fie! My dear Tommy, don't touch mamma's glass. No, no wine, Tommy—papa says no. A few strawberries, my dear little boy, and a biscuit, but no wine."
Tommy, however, advanced his mother's wineglass to his lips, watching her countenance with a cunning glance.
"Now, my little, good Tommy, mamma will be angry, very angry, if you do what she tells you not to do. Bell, my love, go to your aunt, like a good girl."
Isabel took some pains to persuade her little girl to raise her head, but her appeals were useless. In the mean time, Tommy had silently quaffed the remainder of the contents of her glass. Mr. Boscawen rose, and took him from Isabel's knee.
"My dear Boscawen, what are you going to do with Tommy? he is very good with me, my love."
"I am going to banish him, Isabel, for disobedience."
"Oh, my dear Boscawen, it was the least little drop of wine in the world! it was scarcely a teaspoonful—pray don't punish Tommy for that little drop, my love."