On the Saturday evening of the week which had been so eventful at Aston, the Villars family were assembled in their showily furnished drawing-room, in Sydney Place, Bath, each engaged in different occupations; but all eagerly expecting the promised arrival of their rich cousin, Colonel Hargrave. The drawing-room had been studiously arranged, and had not failed to become what it was intended to be—tempting morning and evening lounge, where every single, and eligible man, obtained an easy chair, an amusing chat, and a welcome, which flattered his vanity.

On the present occasion, the ladies of the family were all as finely and as tastefully dressed in the newest mode, as an evening at home could allow—and certainly, taken together, they might have been regarded as a singularly fine family.

Mrs. Villars we have already had occasion to describe; yet, en passant, it is necessary to say that herself at Aston, (swayed by the conflicting feelings of conscience, and her sister's straightforward reasoning, exercised with a candour, known to their girlhood before either had chalked out her path in life,) was a very different personage, indeed, to Mrs. Villars in Bath. The stately importance, or smiling dignity, with which she received her levy of morning callers, or evening guests, showed no wavering conscience, or doubtful heart. A certain degree of intrigue many might have detected; but in the mother of so large and fair a family that was easily forgiven; and, while the gaiety of her conversation rendered her ever a welcome and popular guest, the size of her rooms, and brilliancy of her parties rendered her a valuable hostess. She was now moving about the room to adjust something or other, or taking a peep at the dining-table, to secure herself against anything which might give a bad impression to the expected guest.

Next, if not first, in dignity, stood her daughter Caroline. She was certainly beautiful, though rather fine than engaging, and her expression was haughty and severe—yet beautiful she certainly was, if the most perfect outline of feature is beauty. In figure she was above the middle height; but this was modified by a well rounded person, and a certain academical grace of movement. Her person did not belie her character; she did not rate herself below her real value, and might, indeed, often have erred on the wrong side. In her manners, she was overbearing, but seldom unlady-like. She was talented, yet wanted solidity—haughty and ill-tempered, yet seldom mean, unless greatly tempted. In her own family she rivalled her mother's influence—being a sort of person over whom it was very difficult to have authority. Her age was something beyond thirty, and the remembrance that, with all her beauty, she was still unmarried, gave her mind a sourness which greatly embittered the comfort of the circle of which she formed so prominent a part. On the present occasion, however, she was in one of her best moods, for, slow to take warning from the past, she looked on future conquest as certain. The expected arrival of Colonel Hargrave, about whom, for the last few months, she had been incessantly rallied by her mother and sisters, gave a brilliancy to her color, and a radiancy to her large black eyes—and as she leant over her harp, rambling over a few airs, which might form a romantic greeting to him, Mrs. Villars looked upon her with satisfied triumph. To tell the truth, she was very much afraid of her on account of the haughty and imperious temper, which, in childhood, she had forgotten to guide, and looked upon no scheme for the benefit of her family, with more interest than on the one which might secure Caroline a settlement, which would satisfy her temper, bring honor on herself, and, not least, remove her from all rivalry with her younger sisters. She had, therefore, on the present occasion, been spared nothing which could coax her wayward humour into rendering itself as fascinating as possible—for well did Mrs. Villars know that by a little ill-timed opposition, her anger might be roused, and thus all hopes of her settling be lost. Her expensive taste had, therefore, been for the last few weeks fully gratified, though Mrs. Villars trembled at every request which she feared to refuse. Selina, her second sister, was lounging about the room, sometimes taking up an old album, or a piece of knitting, and wondering where the Colonel could be. She was a very fair-skinned, fair-haired girl, with very light blue eyes—bearing an expression of indolent, good nature. Her prevailing taste was dancing, of which she was passionately fond. Less talented than her elder sister, she yet understood better how to render herself acceptable in society. The pretty lisp with which she often declined attempting a difficult song, was by many deemed more pleasing than her sister's perfect execution of it; and the many pretty nothings about nothing, with which she entertained her partner in the dance, or the smile which meant anything he liked to interpret from it, was often preferred to Caroline's more sensible conversation. She was not, however, so silly as she sometimes chose to appear; a quiet sense of self-preservation usually befriended her, and rendered her sufficiently alive to her own interest. But though very generally liked, she was not often seriously admired.

Our friend Lucy was seated on a stool near the fire, seemingly anxious to catch the fitful light as it fell upon a picture of Finella, (her intended character for the fancy ball,) which she held in her hand. It might have been that she remembered something of the time when Captain Clair had so earnestly dissuaded her from going to that very ball, for the color came and went upon her cheeks as if her thoughts were far from the present scene, and as if they so much occupied her as to prevent her feeling the tedium of expectation.

Maria, the youngest of the sisters, was standing by her, trying, at times, to rally her by remarks which dyed her cheek still deeper, though she remained determinately inattentive to them.

Over Maria her mother had spent many a desponding hour; to her, beauty was everything, and the beauty so lavishly given to her other daughters, was in Maria singularly wanting. Maria, however, possessed more energy than the others, and was not disposed to weep over a deficiency, which she very justly considered to be no fault of hers. Her mouth indeed was very misshapen, and her nose anything but Grecian—but the irregularity of these features was very much redeemed by a pair of handsome eyes, which, though they sometimes sparkled with satire, as often sparkled with fun, in which she peculiarly delighted, though, unfortunately, it occasionally degenerated into vulgarity. She had sufficient common sense to know that if she remained inactive, comparisons, which in most cases are odious, would be doubly so between herself and her sisters, and she seldom allowed her tongue to be sufficiently silent to lead any one to take the trouble to scan her countenance; and, perhaps, the knowledge of her own deficiency did much to compensate for its existence.

One of the first exclamations a stranger would feel inclined to make, on an introduction to this family circle, would be—Why are all these girls unmarried? but no satisfactory answer could be given. Maria suggested, when the subject was discussed in private, that luck was against them. They were sought for, invited out, admired, flirted with by a host of young men, who professed they would have died to serve them, but somehow forgot to make those bona fide proposals, which would probably have been of more service to them than their deaths.

In leaving the description of Mr. Villars to the last, we are only following a fashion which was too prevalent in his household. There was little that was striking in his first appearance; he was only very thoughtful, very gentle, and very gentlemanly. He was the younger son of a wealthy merchant, and had been placed, much against his inclinations, in a firm of some consequence in London. His natural tastes led him to prefer rather classical studies, than the active part in the world of business for which his father designed him. Respect for parental authority, however, prevented his choosing his own profession, in opposition to it; and, being a man of high principle, he resolved that the dislike he entertained for his employment, should not prevent his vigorously exerting himself in the state of life in which he found himself. His prudence was rewarded, and during the thirty years which he had unrepiningly given to his business, he was fortunate enough to realize a fortune which enabled him to retire from it, and having amply provided for his family, by insurances effected on his own life, he was enabled, during his lifetime, to gratify both himself and them in every reasonable way. Having ceased to take any active share in the business, he removed to Bath, where he hoped to find gaiety sufficient to satisfy their wishes, while he indulged his dearly prized leisure in literary pursuits. This plan, however, failed to answer his expectations; his former occupations had given him little time to inspect personally the rising characters of his children, who had been left entirely to their mother's guidance, and he now found, when too late, that they were little calculated to form that domestic circle towards which, through so many long years, he had looked, as the haven of his rest. His tastes were not theirs, and the self denying love which can atone for such deficiencies, had, in their education, been forgotten. They were fond of him in their own way, but this did not prevent their finding the time spent in his study, in hunting for a lost passage, in a favorite author, or listening to some of his own elegant compositions, very dull indeed—though many efforts did he make to overcome this difficulty, and to find one, at least, amongst his four daughters, who might make a pleasant companion; but he had not the heart to command the attentions which he well knew love alone could supply, and with a sigh, he retired, not only companionless, but with a lower idea of his own merits than they deserved. The greater part of his time was now spent alone, in a way which little suited his gentle and domestic disposition; and, contented with holding the reins of domestic government, in serious matters, he let smaller arrangements take their course, without troubling or interesting himself in them. Such was the family group assembled to welcome Colonel Hargrave. The hour appointed, had, however, long passed; Mr. Villars had taken out his watch for the twentieth time, and now stood with it in his hand. Mrs. Villars wearied of her repeated messages to the kitchen to put off the dinner, and Caroline looked lowering for a storm. But nothing availed; quarter followed quarter, counted by impatient minutes. Yet, still, Mrs. Villars referred to the Colonel's note, which she carefully carried in her bag, and again and again read his promise to be with them at the time mentioned, in order that he might accompany them to the ball on the Monday. She had boasted of this, in no unsparing language, and, should he fail her now, her mortification would be complete. Still, concealing her own fears, she glanced, every now and then, entreatingly, at her daughter.

At length, Mr. Villars declared he would wait no longer. This resolution being at length carried, they adjourned, in no very agreeable mood, to the dining-room, to partake of a fine dinner, completely spoilt. Mr. Villars, feeling annoyed at the disrespect which a neglected appointment often implies, was not in the best possible humour, and his wife, eager to support the popularity of her unknown favorite, was obliged to exercise no small rhetoric to make all smooth. But when she looked at Caroline, and saw the cloud of ill-humour gathering fast, and, as quickly shading her beauty, she as fervently wished he would stay away for that night, at least, as she had before been eager for his arrival. This last wish was fully gratified, for the evening wore away, and yet no Hargrave made his appearance.