"Mr. Titmouse begs to present his compliments to the Earl of Dreddlington, and to express the high sense he entertains of the kind consideration evinced by his Lordship in his call and note of to-day.
"One of the most gratifying circumstances connected with Mr. Titmouse's recent success, is the distinguished alliance which his Lordship has been so prompt and courteous in recognizing. Mr. Titmouse will feel the greatest pleasure in availing himself of the Earl of Dreddlington's invitation to dinner for Monday next.
"Cabbage-Stalk Hotel, Thursday.
"The Right Honble. the Earl of Dreddlington, &c., &c."
"Have you a 'Peerage' here, waiter?" inquired Gammon, as the waiter brought him a lighted taper. Debrett was shortly laid before him; and turning to the name of Dreddlington, he read over the paragraph which had been already laid before the reader. "Humph—'Lady Cecilia'—here she is—his daughter—I thought as much—I see!" This was what passed through his mind, as—having left Titmouse, who set off to deposit a card and the above "Answer" at Lord Dreddlington's—he made his way towards the delectable regions in which their office was situated—Saffron Hill. "'Tis curious—amusing—interesting, to observe the social progress of this charming little fellow"—continued Gammon to himself—
"Tag-rag—and his daughter;
"Quirk—and his daughter;
"The Earl of Dreddlington—and his daughter. How many more? Happy! happy! happy Titmouse!"
The sun which was rising upon Titmouse was setting upon the Aubreys. Dear, delightful—now too dear, now too delightful—Yatton! the shades of evening are descending upon thee, and thy virtuous but afflicted occupants, who, early on the morrow, quit thee forever. Approach silently you conservatory. Behold, in the midst of it, the dark slight figure of a lady, solitary, motionless, in melancholy attitude—her hands clasped before her: it is Miss Aubrey. Her face is beautiful, but grief is in her eye; and her bosom heaves with sighs, which, gentle though they be, are yet the only sounds audible. Yes, that is the sweet and once joyous Kate Aubrey!
'Twas she indeed; and this was her last visit to her conservatory. Many rare, delicate, and beautiful flowers were there. The air was laden with the fragrant odors which they exhaled, as it were in sighs, on account of the dreaded departure of their lovely mistress. At length she stooped down, and, in stooping, a tear fell right upon the small sprig of geranium which she gently detached from its stem, and placed in her bosom. "Sweet flowers," thought she, "who will tend you as I have tended you, when I am gone? Why do you look now more beautiful than ever you did before?"—Her eye presently fell upon the spot on which, till the day before, had stood her aviary. Poor Kate had sent it, as a present, to Lady De la Zouch, and it was then at Fotheringham Castle. What a flutter there used to be among the beautiful little creatures, when they perceived Kate's approach! She turned her head away. She felt oppressed, and attributed it to the closeness of the conservatory—the strength of the odors given out by the numerous flowers; but it was sorrow that oppressed her; and she was in a state at once of mental excitement and physical exhaustion. The last few weeks had been an interval of exquisite suffering. She could not be happy alone, nor yet bear the company of her brother and sister-in-law, or their innocent and lovely children. Quitting the conservatory with a look of lingering fondness, she passed along into the house with a hurried step, and escaped, unobserved, to her chamber—the very chamber in which the reader obtained his first distant and shadowy glimpse of her; and in which, now entering it silently and suddenly, the door being only closed, not shut, she observed her faithful little maid Harriet, sitting in tears before a melancholy heap of packages prepared for travelling on the morrow. She rose as Miss Aubrey entered, and presently exclaimed passionately, bursting afresh into tears, "Ma'am, I can't leave you—indeed I can't! I know all your ways; I won't go to any one else! I shall hate service! and I know they'll hate me too; for I shall cry myself to death!"
"Come, come, Harriet," faltered Miss Aubrey, "this is very foolish; nay, it is unkind to distress me in this manner at the last moment."
"Oh, ma'am, if you did but know how I love you! How I'd go on my knees to serve you all the rest of the days of my life!"