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I have been unjust to
Barkington: or rather I have echoed, without thought, Oxonian prejudices
and affectation. On mature reflection, I know no better residence for a
married man.
"Do you remember about a year ago you mentioned a Miss Lucy Fountain to
us as 'the most perfect gentlewoman you had ever met?' Well, strange to
say, it is that very lady's daughter; and I think when you see her you
will say the breed has anything but declined, in spite of Horace mind his
_'damnosa quid non.'_ Her brother is my dearest friend, and she is
Jenny's; so a more happy alliance for all parties was never projected.
"Write to me by return, dear father, and believe me, ever your dutiful
and grateful son,
"ALFRED HARDlE."

As he concluded, Julia came in, and he insisted on her reading this
masterpiece. She hesitated. Then he told her with juvenile severity that
a good husband always shares his letters with his wife.
"His wife! Alfred!" and she coloured all over. "Don't call me _names,_"
said she, turning it off after her fashion. "I can't bear it: it makes me
tremble.


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