DIED.—At the residence of Charles Ashton, Esq. Louisa, wife of the late Hon. Arthur Barrington, and grand-daughter of Sir Edward Ashton of Brierley.
"Charles, how dared you?" cried his mother, reddening with anger, "your father will be excessively angry."
"I cannot help that: it is the truth, is it not?"
"True? of course you know it is; but, for all that, you need not have published it in that absurd manner."
"I thought it best."
"And you are simple enough to think that that notice will prevent absurd stories getting abroad."
"As to who she might be, yes; and, as to the circumstances that brought her here, I presume you would prefer any, rather than the right ones, should be assigned."
Lady Ashton was for once abashed, and her eye dropped beneath the severity of her son's gaze; but, recovering quickly, she answered, "you, at least, have nothing to do with that."
"I am thankful to say I have not," he returned, "I cannot forget it, it makes me perfectly wretched; and, but that I know that Ada has her own home to go to, if anything happened to me I don't know what I should do. I shall insure my life this very day, that she may be independent. If a daughter's child could be so treated, why not a son's wife."
For goodness' sake stop, Charles!" cried his mother, "don't talk so dreadfully."