the ship, and why he had the right to signify his knowledge to her, so insidiously and darkly, troubled Florence very much. This conduct on the part of Mr. Carker, and her habit of often considering it with wonder and uneasiness, began to invest him with an uncomfortable fascination in Florence's thoughts. A more distinct remembrance of his features, voice, and manner; which she sometimes courted, as a means of reducing him to the level of a real personage, capable of exerting no greater charm over her than another; did not remove the vague impression. And yet he never frowned, or looked upon her with an air of dislike or animosity, but was always smiling and serene. Again, Florence, in pursuit of her strong purpose with reference to her father, and her steady resolution to believe that she was herself unwittingly to blame for their so cold and distant relations, would recall to mind that this gentleman was his confidential friend, and would think, with an anxious heart, could her struggling tendency to dislike and fear him be a part of that misfortune in her, which had turned her father's love adrift, and left her so alone? She dreaded that it might be; sometimes believed it was; then she resolved that she would try to conquer this wrong feeling; persuaded herself that she was honoured and encouraged by the notice of her father's friend; and hoped that patient observation of him and trust in him would lead her bleeding feet along that stony road which ended in her father's heart. Thus, with no one to advise her for she could advise with no one without seeming to complain against him-gentle Florence tossed on an uneasy sea of doubt and hope; and Mr. Carker, like a scaly monster of the deep, swam down below, and kept his shining eye upon her. Florence had a new reason in all this for wishing to be at home again. Her lonely life was better suited to her course of timid hope and doubt; and she feared sometimes, that in her absence she might miss some hopeful chance of testifying her affection for her father. Heaven knows, she might have set her mind at rest, poor child! on this last point; but her slighted love was fluttering within her, and, even in her sleep, it flew away in dreams, and nestled, like a wandering bird come home, upon her father's neck. Of Walter she thought often. Ah! how often, when the night was gloomy, and the wind was blowing round the house! But hope was strong in her breast. It is so difficult for the young and ar. dent, even with such experience as hers, to imagine youth and ardour quenched like a weak flame, and the bright day of life merging into night, at noon, that hope was strong yet. Her tears fell frequently for Walter's sufferings; but rarely for his supposed death, and never long. She had written to the old Instrument-maker, but had received no answer to her note: which indeed required none. Thus matters stood with Florence un the morning when she was going home, gladly, to her old secluded life. Doctor and Mrs. Blimber, accompanied (much against his will) by their valued charge, Master Barnet, were already gone back to Brighton, where that young gentleman and his fellow pilgrims to Parnassus were then, no doubt, in the continual resumption of their studies. The holiday time was past and over; most of the juvenile guests at the villa had taken their departure; and Florence's long visit was come to an end. There was one guest, however, albeit not resident within the house, who had been very constant in his attentions to the family, and who still remained devoted to them. This was Mr. Toots, who, after renewing, some weeks ago, the acquaintance he had had the happiness of forming with Skettles Junior, on the night when he burst the Blimberian bonds and soared into freedom with his ring on, called regularly every other day, and left a perfect pack of cards at the hall-door; so many, indeed, that the ceremony was quite a deal on the part of Mr. Toots, and a hand at whist on the part of the servant. Mr. Toots, likewise, with the bold and happy idea of preventing the family from forgetting him (but there is reason to suppose that this expedient origi. nated in the teeming brain of the Chicken), had established a six-oared cutter, manned by aquatic friends of the Chicken's, and steered by that illus. trious character in person, who wore a bright red fireman's coat for the purpose, and concealed the perpetual black eye with which he was afflicted, beneath a green shade. Previous to the institution of this equipage, Mr. Toots sounded the Chicken on a hypothetical case, as, supposing the Chicken to be enamoured of a young lady named Mary, and to have conceived the intention of starting a boat of his own, what would he call that boat? The Chicken replied, with divers strong asseverations, that he would either christen it Poll or The Chicken's Delight. Improving on this idea, Mr. Toots, after deep study and the exercise of much invention, resolved to call his boat The Toots's Joy, as a delicate compliment to Florence, of which no man knowing the parties, could possibly miss the appreciation. Stretched on a crimson cushion in his gallant bark, with his shoes in the air, Mr. Toots, in the exercise of his project, had come up the river, day after day, and week after week, and had flitted to and fro, near Sir Barnet's garden, and had caused his crew to cut across and across the river at sharp angles, for his better exhibition to any lookers-out from Sir Barnet's windows, and had had such evolutions performed by the Toots's Delight as had filled all the neighbouring part of the water-side with astonishment. But whenever he saw any one in Sir Barnet's garden on the brink of the river, Mr. Toots always feigned to be passing there, by a combination of coincidences of the most singular and unlikely description. "How are you, Toots!" Sir Barnet would say, waving his hand from the lawn, while the artful Chicken steered close in shore. "How de do, Sir Barnet!" Mr. Toots would answer. "What a surprising thing that 1 should see you here!" Mr. Toots, in his sagacity, always said this, as if, instead of that being Sir Barnet's house, it were some deserted edifice on the banks of the Nile, or Ganges. "I never was so surprised!" Mr. Toots would exclaim.-" Is Miss Dombey there?" Whereupon Florence would appear, perhaps. "Oh, Diogenes is quite well, Miss Dombey," Mr. Toots would cry. "I called to ask this morning." "Thank you very much!" the pleasant voice of Florence would reply. "Won't you come ashore, Toots?" Sir Barnet would say then. "Come! You're in no hurry. Come and see us." "Oh, it's of no consequence, thank you!" Mr. Toots would blushingly rejoin. "I thought Miss Dombey might like to know, that's all. Good 2 bye!" And poor Mr. Toots, who was dying to accept the invitation, but hadn't the courage to do it, signed to the Chicken, with an aching heart, and away went the Delight, cleaving the water like an arrow. The Delight was lying in a state of extraordinary splendour, at the garden steps, on the morning of Florence's departure. When she went down-stairs to take leave, after her talk with Susan, she found Mr. Toots awaiting her in the drawing-room. "Oh, how de do, Miss Dombey?" said the stricken Toots, always dreadfully disconcerted when the desire of his heart was gained, and he was speaking to her; "thank you I'm very well indeed, I hope you're the same, so was Diogenes yesterday." "You are very kind," said Florence. "Thank you, it's of no consequence," retorted Mr. Toots. "I thought perhaps you would n't mind, in this fine weather, coming home by water, Miss Dombey. There's plenty of room in the boat for your maid." "I am very much obliged to you," said Florence, hesitating. "I really am- but I would rather not." "Oh, it's of no consequence," retorted Mr. Toots. "Good morning!" "Won't you wait and see Lady Skettles ?" asked Florence, kindly. "Oh no, thank you," returned Mr. Toots, "it's of no consequence at all." So shy was Mr. Toots on such occasions, and so flurried! But Lady Skettles entering at the moment, Mr. Toots was suddenly seized with a passion for asking her how she did, and hoping she was very well; nor could Mr. Toots by any possibility leave off shaking hands with her, until Sir Barnet appeared: to whom he immediately clung with the tenacity of desperation. "We are losing, to-day, Toots," said Sir Barnet, turning towards Florence, "the light of our house, I assure you." "Oh, it's of no conseq- -I mean yes, to be sure," faltered the embarrassed Toots. "GOOD morning!" Notwithstanding the emphatic nature of this farewell, Mr. Toots, instead of going away, stood leering about him, vacantly. Florence, to relieve him, bade adieu, with many thanks, to Lady Skettles, and gave her arm to Sir Barnet. May I beg of you, my dear Miss Dombey," said her host, as he conducted her to the carriage, "to present my best compliments to your dear Papa?" It was distressing to Florence to receive the commission, for she felt as if she were imposing on Sir Barnet, by allowing him to believe that a kindness rendered to her, was rendered to her father. As she could not explain, however, she bowed her head, and thanked him; and again she thought that the dull home, free from such embarrassments, and such reminders of her sorrow, was her natural and best retreat. night when Paul and she had come from Doctor Blimber's: and when the carriage drove away, her face was wet with tears. Sorrowful tears, but tears of consolation, too; for all the softer memories connected with the dull old house to which she was returning made it dear to her, as they rose up. How long it seemed since she had wandered through the silent rooms: since she had last crept, softly and afraid, into those her father occupied since she had felt the solemn but yet soothing influence of the beloved dead in every action of her daily life! This new farewell reminded her, besides, of her parting with poor Walter: of his looks and words that night: and of the gracious blending she had noticed in him, of tenderness for those he left behind, with courage and high spirit. His little history was associated with the old house too, and gave it a new claim and hold upon her heart. Even Susan Nipper softened towards the home of so many years, as they were on their way towards it. Gloomy as it was, and rigid justice as she rendered to its gloom, she forgave it a great deal. "I shall be glad to see it again, I don't deny, Miss," said the Nipper. "There aint much in it to boast of, but I would n't have it burnt or pulled down, neither!" "You'll be glad to go through the old rooms, won't you, Susan ?" said Florence, smiling. "Well, Miss," returned the Nipper, softening more and more towards the house, as they approached it nearer, "I won't deny but what I shall, though I shall hate 'em again, to-morrow, very likely." Florence felt that, for her, there was greater peace within it than elsewhere. It was better and easier to keep her secret shut up there, among the tall dark walls, than to carry it abroad into the light, and try to hide it from a crowd of happy eyes. It was better to pursue the study of her loving heart, alone, and find no new discouragements in loving hearts about her. It was easier to hope, and pray, and love on, all uncared for, yet with constancy and patience, in the tranquil sanctuary of such remembrances: although it mouldered, rusted, and decayed about her: than in a new scene, let its gaiety be what it would. She welcomed back her old enchanted dream of life, and longed for the old dark door to close upon her, once again. Full of such thoughts, they turned into the long and sombre street. Florence was not on that side of the carriage which was nearest to her home, and as the distance lessened between them and it, she looked out of her window for the children over the way. She was thus engaged, when an exclamation from Susan caused her to turn quickly round. 66 Why Gracious me !" cried Susan, breathless, "where's our house!" "Our house!" said Florence. Susan, drawing in her head from the window, thrust it out again, drew it in again as the carriage stopped, and stared at her mistress in amazement. There was a labyrinth of scaffolding raised all round the house, from the basement to the roof. Loads of bricks and stones, and heaps of mortar, and piles of wood, blocked up half the width and length of the broad street at the side. Ladders were raised against the walls; labourers were climbing up and down; men were at work upon the steps of the scaffolding; painters and decorators were busy inside; great rolls of ornamental paper were Such of her late friends and companions as were yet remaining at the villa, came running from within, and from the garden, to say good bye. They were all attached to her, and very earnest in taking leave of her. Even the household were sorry for her going, and the servants came nodding and curtseying round the carriage door. As Florence looked round on the kind faces, and saw among them those of Sir Barnet and his lady, and of Mr. Toots, who was chuckling and staring at I being delionend farm 152 was to be seen through the gaping and broken windows in any of the rooms; nothing but workmen, and the implements of their several trades, swarming from the kitchens to the garrets. Inside and outside alike: bricklayers, painters, carpenters, masons: hammer, hod, brush, pickaxe, saw, and trowel: all at work together, in full chorus! She saw in the glance they interchanged, that the lady who had screamed, and who was seate‹l, was old; and that the other lady, who stood nea c her papa, was very beautiful, and of an elegant figure. "Mrs. Skewton," said her father, turning to the first, and holding out his hand, "this is my daug ter Florence." "Charming, I am sure," observed the lady, pat. Florence descended from the coach, half doubting if it were, or could be the right house, until she recognised Towlinson, with a sun-burnt face, stand-ting up her glass. "So natural! My darling Fl‹-ing at the door to receive her. "There is nothing the matter?" inquired Flo rence. "Oh no, Miss." "There are great alterations going on." 66 Yes, Miss, great alterations," said Towlinson. Florence passed him as if she were in a dream, and hurried up-stairs. The garish light was in the long-darkened drawing-rooms, and there were steps and platforms, and men in paper caps, in the high places. Her mother's picture was gone with the rest of the moveables, and on the mark where it had been, was scrawled in chalk, "this room in panel. Green and gold." The staircase was a labyrinth of posts and planks like the outside of the house, and a whole Olympus of plumbers and glaziers was reclining in various attitudes, on the sky. light. Her own room was not yet touched within, but there were beams and boards raised against it without, baulking the daylight. She went up swiftly to that other bed-room, where the little bed was; and a dark giant of a man with a pipe in his mouth, and his head tied up in a pocket-handkerchief, was staring in at the window. It was here that Susan Nipper, who had been in quest of Florence, found her, and said, would she go down stairs to her Papa, who wished to speak to her. "At home! and wishing to speak to me !" cried Florence, trembling. rence, you must kiss me, if you please." Florence having done so, turned towards the other lady, by whom her father stood waiting. 66 Edith," said Mr. Dombey, "this is my daughter Florence. Florence, this lady will soon be your mamma." Florence started, and looked up at the beautifil face in a conflict of emotions, among which the tears that nume awakened, struggled for a moment with surprise, interest, admiration, and an indefinable sort of fear. Then she cried out, “Oh, papa, may you be happy! may you be very, very happy. all your life!" and then fell weeping on the lady's bosom. There was a short silence. The beautiful lady, who at first had seemed to hesitate whether or no she should advance to Florence, held her to her breast, and pressed the hand with which she clasped her, close about her waist, as if to reassure and comfort her. Not one word passed the lady's lips. She bent her head down over Florence, and she "Shall we go on through the rooms," said Mr. kissed her on the check, but she said no word. Dombey, "and see how our workmen are doing? Pray, allow me, my dear madam." He said this, in offering his arm to Mrs. Skewton, glass, as though picturing to herself what she might from her own copious who had been looking at Florence through her storehouse, no doubt of a little more Heart and be made, by the infusion Nature. Florence was still sobbing on the lady's breast, and holding to her, when Mr. Dombey was a heard to say from the Conservatory: Susan, who was infinitely more distraught than Florence herself, repeated her errand; and Florence, pale and agitated, hurried down again, without inoment's hesitation. She thought upon the way down, would she dare to kiss him? The longing of her heart resolved her, and she thought she would. Her father might have heard that heart beat, when it came into his presence. One instant, and it would have beat against his breast But he was not alone. There were two ladies "Florence." said her father, putting out his you Florence took the hand between her own, and -from Brighton." "He is very good-tempered," said Florence, ad- "Let us ask Edith. Dear me, where is she?" Edith, my dear!" cried Mrs. Skewton, "where know. We are here, my love." are you? Looking for Mr. Dombey somewhere, I The beautiful lady released her hold of Florence, and pressing her lips once more upon her face, withdrew hurriedly, and joined them. Florence remained standing in the same place: happy, sorry, joyful, and in tears, she knew not how, or how long, but all at once: when her new Mamma came back, and took her in her arms again. "Florence," said the lady, hurriedly, and looking into her face with great earnestness, "you will not begin by hating me?" 44 By hating you, Mamma !" cried Florence, win.l. look. ing her arm round her neck, and returning the "Hush! Begin by thinking well of me," said tle beautiful lady. "Begin by believing that I will ty to make you happy, and that I am prepared to love soon. Good bye! Don't stay here, now." you, Florence. Good bye. We shall meet again, Again she pressed her to her breast-she had spoken in a rapid manner, but firmly-and Florence saw her rejoin them in the other room. And now Florence began to hope that she would learn, from her new and beautiful Mamma, how to gain her father's love; and in her sleep that night, in her lost old home, her own Mamma smiled radi. antly upon the hope, and blessed it. Dreaming Florence! CHAPTER XXIX. THE OPENING OF THE EYES OF MRS. CHICK. MISS Tox, all unconscious of any such rare appearances in connexion with Mr. Dombey's house, as scaffoldings and ladders, and men with their heads tied up in pocket-handkerchiefs, glaring in at the windows like flying genii or strange birds, having breakfasted one morning at about this eventful period of time, on her customary viands; to wit, one French roll rasped, one egg new laid (or warranted to be), and one little pot of tea, wherein was infused one little silver scoop-full of that herb on behalf of Miss Tox, and one little silver scoop-full on behalf of the teapot-a flight of fancy in which good housekeepers delight; went up stairs to set forth the bird waltz on the harpsichord, to water and arrange the plants, to dust the nick-nacks, and, according to her daily custom, to make her little drawing-room the garland of Princess's Place. Miss Tox endued herself with the pair of ancient gloves, like dead leaves, in which she was accus. tomed to perform these avocations-hidden from human sight at other times in a table drawer-and went methodically to work; beginning with the bird waltz; passing, by a natural association of ideas, to her bird-a very high-shouldered canary, stricken in years, and much rumpled, but a piercing singer, as Princess's Place well knew; taking, next in order, the little china ornaments, paper fly-cages, and so forth; and coming round, in good time, to the plants, which generally required to be snipped here and there with a pair of scissors, for some botanical reason that was very powerful with Miss Tox. Miss Tox was slow in coming to the plants, this morning. The weather was warm, the wind south. erly; and there was a sigh of the summer time in Princess's Place, that turned Miss Tox's thoughts upon the country. The pot-boy attached to the Princess's Arms had come out with a can and trickled water, in a flowing pattern, all over Princess's Place, and it gave the weedy ground a fresh scent quite a growing scent, Miss Tox said. There was a tiny blink of sun peeping in from the great street round the corner, and the smoky sparrows hopped over it and back again, brightening as they passed or bathed in it, like a stream, and became glorified sparrows, unconnected with chimneys. Legends in praise of Ginger-beer, with pictorial representations of thirsty customers subinerged in the effervescence, or stunned by the flying corks, were conspicuous in the window of the Princess's Arms. They were making late hay, somewhere out of town; and though the fragrance had a long way to come, and many counter fragrances to contend with among the dwellings of the poor (may God reward the worthy gentlemen who stickle for the Plague as part and parcel of the wisdom of our ancestors, and do their little best to keep those dwellings miserable!), yet it was wafted faintly into Princess's Place, whispering of Nature and her wholesome air, as such things will, even unto prisoners and captives, and those who are desolate and oppressed, in very spite of aldermen and knights to boot: at whose sage nod-and how they nod-the rolling world stands still! Miss Tox sat upon the window-seat, and thought of her good papa deceased-Mr. Tox, of the Customs Department of the public service; and of her childhood, passed at a scaport, among a considerable quantity of cold tar, and some rusticity. She fell into a softened remembrance of meadows, in old time, gleaming with buttercups, like so many inverted firmaments of golden stars; and how she had made chains of dandelion stalks for youthful vowers of eternal constancy, dressed chiefly in nan. keen; and how soon those fetters had withered and broken. Sitting on the window-seat, and looking out upon the sparrows and the blink of sun, Miss Tox thought likewise of her good mamma deceased-sister to the owner of the powdered head and pigtail-of her virtues and her rheumatism. And when a man with bulgy legs, and a rough voice, and a heavy basket on his head that crushed his hat into a mere black muffin, came crying flowers down Princess's Place, making his timid little roots of daisies shudder in the vibration of every yell he gave, as though he had been an ogre, hawking little children, summer recollections were so strong upon Miss Tox, that she shook her head, and murmured she would be comparatively old before she knew it—which seemed likely. In her pensive mood, Miss Tox's thoughts went wandering on Mr. Dombey's track; probably because the Major had returned home to his lodgings opposite, and had just bowed to her from his window. What other reason could Miss Tox have for connecting Mr. Dombey with her summer days and dandelion fetters? Was he more cheerful? thought Miss Tox. Was he reconciled to the decrees of fate? Would he ever marry again; and if yes, whom? What sort of person now? A flush-it was warm weather-overspread Miss Tox's face, as, while entertaining these meditations, she turned her head, and was surprised by the re. flection of her thoughtful image in the chimney. glass. Another flush succeeded when she saw a little carriage drive into Princess's Place, and make straight for her own door. Miss Tox arose, took up her scissors hastily, and so coming, at last, to the plants, was very busy with them when Mrs. Chick entered the room. "How is my sweetest friend!" exclaimed Miss Tox, with open arms. A little stateliness was mingled with Miss Tox's sweetest friend's demeanour, but she kissed Miss Tox, and said, “Lucretia, thank you, I am pretty well. I hope you are the same. Hem!" Mrs. Chick was labouring under a peculiar little monosyllabic cough; a sort of primer, or easy introduction to the art of coughing. "You call very early, and how kind that is, my dear!" pursued Miss Tox. "Now, have you breakfasted?" “Thank you, Lucretia," said Mrs. Chick, “I have. I took an early breakfast"-the good lady seemed curious on the subject of Princess's Place, and looked all round it as she spoke, “with my brother, who has come home." He is better, I trust, my love," faltered Miss Tox. "He is greatly better, thank you. Hem!" 66 'My dear Louisa must be careful of that cough," remarked Miss Tox. "It's nothing," returned Mrs. Chick. "It's. merely change of weather. We must expect change." "Of weather?" asked Miss Tox, in her simplicity. "Of everything," returned Mrs. Chick. "Of course we must. It's a world of change. Any one would surprise me very much, Lucretia, and would greatly alter my opinion of their understanding, if they attempted to contradict or evade what is so perfectly evident. Change!" exclaimed Mrs. Chick, with severe philosophy. "Why, my gracious me, what is there that does not change! even the silkworm, who I am sure might be supposed not to trouble itself about such subjects, changes into all sorts of unexpected things continually." My Louisa," said the mild Miss Tox, "is ever happy in her illustrations." You are so kind, Lucretia," returned Mrs. Chick, a little softened, "as to say so, and to think so, I believe. I hope neither of us may ever have any cause to lessen our opinion of the other, Lucretia." "I am sure of it," returned Miss Tox. Mrs. Chick coughed as before, and drew lines on the carpet with the ivory end of her parasol. Miss Tox, who had experience of her fair friend, and knew that under the pressure of any slight fatigue or vexation she was prone to a discursive kind of irritability, availed herself of the pause, to change the subject. "Pardon me, my dear Louisa," said Miss Tox, "but have I caught sight of the manly form of Mr. Chick in the carriage?" "He is there," said Mrs. Chick, "but pray leave him there. He has his newspaper, and would be quite contented for the next two hours. Go on with your flowers, Lucretia, and allow me to sit here and rest." 66 My Louisa knows," observed Miss Tox, "that between friends like ourselves, any approach to ceremony would be out of the question. There fore" Therefore Miss Tox finished the sentence, not in words but action; and putting on her gloves again, which she had taken off, and arming herself once more with her scissors, began to snip and clip among the leaves with microscopic industry. "Florence has returned home also," said Mrs. Chick, after sitting silent for some time, with her head on one side, and her parasol sketching on the floor; "and really Florence is a great deal too old now, to continue to lead that solitary life to which she has been accustomed. Of course she is. There can be no doubt about it. I should have very little respect, indeed, for anybody who could advocate a different opinion. Whatever my wishes might be, I could not respect them. We cannot command our feelings to such an extent as that." Miss Tox assented, without being particular as to the intelligibility of the proposition. "My dearest love," remonstrated Miss Tox. Mrs. Chick dried her eyes, which were, for the moment, overflowing; and proceeded : "And consequently he is more than ever bound to make an effort. And though his having done so, comes upon me with a sort of shock-for mine is a very weak and foolish nature; which is anything but a blessing I am sure; I often wish my heart was a marble slab, or a paving-stone-" My sweet Louisa," remonstrated Miss Tox, again. Still, it is a triumph to me to know that he is so true to himself, and to his name of Dombey; although, of course, I always knew he would be. I only hope," said Mrs. Chick, after a pause, “that she may be worthy of the name too." Miss Tox filled a little green watering-pot from a jug, and happening to look up when she had done so, was so surprised by the amount of expression Mrs. Chick had conveyed into her face, and was bestowing upon her, that she put the little watering-pot on the table for the present, and sat down near it. My dear Louisa," said Miss Tox," will it be the least satisfaction to you, if I venture to observe in reference to that remark, that I, as a humble individual, think your sweet niece in every way most promising?" To "What do you mean, Lucretia ?" returned Mrs. Chick, with increased stateliness of manner. what remark of mine, my dear, do you refer?" "Her being worthy of her name, my love," replied Miss Tox. "If," said Mrs. Chick, with solemn patience, "I have not expressed myself with elearness, Lucretia, the fault of course is mine. There is, perhaps, no reason why I should express myself at all, except the intimacy that has subsisted between us, and which I very much hope, Lucretia-confidently hope-nothing will occur to disturb. Because, why should I do anything else? There is no rea. son; it would be absurd. But I wish to express myself clearly, Lucretia; and therefore to go back to that remark, I must beg to say that it was not intended to relate to Florence, in any way.” "Indeed!" returned Miss Tox. No," said Mrs. Chick, shortly and decisively. Pardon me, my dear," rejoined her meek friend; "but I cannot have understood it. I fear I am dull." Mrs. Chick looked round the room, and over the way; at the plants, at the bird, at the watering-pot, at almost everything within view, except Miss Tox; and finally dropping her glance upon Miss Tox, for a moment, on its way to the ground, said, looking meanwhile with elevated eyebrows at the carpet: "When I speak, Lucretia, of her being worthy of the name, I speak of my brother Paul's second wife. I believe I have already said, in effect, if not in the very words I now use, that it is his intention to marry a second wife." Miss Tox left her seat in a hurry, and returned to her plants; clipping among the stems and leaves, with as little favour as a barber working at so many pauper heads of hair. "If she's a strange girl," said Mrs. Chick, "and if my brother Paul cannot feel perfectly comfortable in her society, after all the sad things that have happened, and all the terrible disappointments that have been undergone, then, what is the reply? "Whether she will be fully sensible of the disThat he must make an effort. That he is bound tinction conferred upon her," said Mrs. Chick, in a to make an effort. We have always been a family lofty tone," is quite another question. I hope she remarkable for effort. Paul is at the head of the may be. We are bound to think well of one anofamily; almost the only representative of it left-ther in this world, and I hope she may be. I have r what am I! I am of no consequence—” not been advised with myself, If I had been ad. |