"And he must take Lady Betty's hand instead of mine," thought she. "But
that is good breeding, I suppose. I wish there was no such thing; we are
very happy without it in Shropshire." Then this poor little soul was
ashamed of herself, and took herself to task. "Poor Ernest," said she,
pitying the wrongdoer, like a woman, "he was not pleased to be so taken
by surprise. No wonder; they are so ceremonious in London. How good of
him not to be angry!" Then she sighed; her heart had received a damp. His
voice seemed changed, and he did not meet her eyes with the look he wore
at Willoughby. She looked timidly into the garden. She saw the gay colors
of beaux, as well as of belles--for in these days broadcloth had not
displaced silk and velvet--glancing and shining among the trees; and she
sighed, but, presently brightening up a little, she said: "I will go and
see that the coffee is hot and clear, and the chocolate well mixed for
them." The poor child wanted to do something to please her husband.
Before she could carry out this act of domestic virtue, her attention was
drawn to a strife of tongues in the hall. She opened the folding-doors,
and there was a fine gentleman obstructing the entrance of a somber,
rusty figure, with a portfolio and a manuscript under each arm.
The fine gentleman was Colander. The seedy personage was the eternal
Triplet, come to make hay with his five-foot rule while the sun shone.
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