The dessert was scarcely laid on the table and the servants withdrawn, when a clatter of pattens and a loud talking announced the arrival of the guests from Deane. Mrs. Galton and Miss Seymour were anxious to retire immediately; but Mrs. Sullivan was too busily engaged paying her devoirs to a fine peach, and her second daughter in monopolizing those of Mr. Mordaunt, to attend the signal; whilst Miss Webberly was slanderously attributing to the family of "Gases" affinities and products that never before had been hinted at; and was so eagerly bent on astonishing Mr. Temple by a discourse "EnflÉ de vent, vide de raison," that some minutes elapsed before the debouching was effected. They however reached the huge fire-place, now decked in all the pride of summer's bloom, which marked the centre of the old-fashioned hall, before the finishing strokes were given to the toilets of the newly-arrived party. "I declare here they all come!" exclaimed Mrs. Martin; "Lucy, my dear, hold up your head. Here, put this pocket-handkerchief in your bonnet for night, whilst I just slip your shoes and stockings into your ridicule." "How d'ye do, Mrs. Galton? Thank ye, ma'am, my Lucy's used to walking—never catches cold. We were twice at Vauxhall last spring two year. Well certainly, Miss Seymour, the country air does agree with you; you look vastly well. Pray, my dear miss, isn't that Mrs. Sullivan and the two Miss Webberlys? They don't seem to remember me. I'll just go and ask whether the currant wine I made 'em a present of was good or not." So saying, the active Mrs. Martin bustled up to Mrs. Sullivan to recommence her usual string of queries, without waiting for an answer to any one of those she had already made with such uninterrupted volubility. But Mrs. Sullivan's pomposity was not to be discomposed by any sudden attack. She was by this time sitting, or rather reclining, (for reposing it could not be called) on the high-backed, hard-bottomed, uncushioned, damask-covered sofa, which had not yet resigned its proud and ancient place against the side wall of Sir Henry's drawing-room. She was paying as much attention to Mrs. Galton's conversation as repeated yawns would permit, an attention ostentatiously redoubled at the entrance of Mrs. Martin, while Mrs. Lucas was balancing herself on the edge of an immoveable arm-chair, assiduously offering her assenting monosyllable, and smiling "he hem" at the close of every sentence the two ladies uttered, however contradictory its import might be to the last expressed opinion.

Mrs. Temple had in the mean time joined the young people who had withdrawn to one of the deep recesses of the windows, collected together in a groupe, by that indescribable attraction which is found in a similarity of age, however unlike the characters or pursuits of the different individuals may be. Some beautiful roses which filled an old china vase, and scarcely rivalled its colours, served for the subject of their conversation. "I suppose," said Miss Webberly, "you have plenty of time, in this out of the way place, Miss Seymour, for the study of botany and the fine arts. How I envy you! Now in town we have never no time for nothing." "No, indeed," replied Miss Seymour, "I know nothing of botany, though I delight in flowers." "Not understand botany!" "Why indeed, my love Emily," interrupted Miss Cecilia Webberly, "no person of taste likes those things now, they are quite out; indeed, 'the loves of the plants' is a delightful book, that will always go down. I have it almost off by heart. Don't you admire it, Miss Seymour?" "I have never read it," answered Selina. "And what do you read?" continued Cecilia; "I suppose you hardly ever get a new book at Slater's?" "Yes; do let us hear what your studies are," said Miss Webberly, in a tone approaching to contempt. "My employments scarcely deserve the name of studies," modestly replied Selina. "I am very fond of drawing, and spend a great deal of time in that occupation; but any information I receive from books has been principally gathered from what Augustus reads out to my aunt and me, whilst my father sleeps in an evening." "How extatic must be your communication with Mr. Temple, my dear madam!" said Miss Webberly, turning from Selina to Mrs. Temple; "yours must be the feast of reason and the flow of soul. Does the vegetable creation ever attract your notice?" "Yes;" quietly answered Mrs. Temple; "but I principally cultivate flowers for the sake of my bees; they, you know, are my second nursery." "And pray, while you are practising horticulture, do you think you ever suffer from imbibing the hydrogen?" "To tell you the truth, my dear Miss Webberly, I feel I so little understand either hydrogen or oxygen, that I never think about them." "Nothing more easy! nothing more easy, I assure you! Every body learns chemistry in town. I always attend the Royal Institution;—Sir Humphrey Davy is so dear! so animated! so delightful! I once asked him, 'My dear Sir Davy,' says I, 'what's the distinction between oxygen and hydrogen?' 'Why,' says he, 'one is pure gin, and the other gin and water.'" Poor Selina was as little capable of enjoying the scientifical jargon of Miss Webberly, as she was of comprehending the more fluent discourse of her sister, who had already talked over the contents of Slater's library with Miss Martin and Miss Lucas, and astonished them with a minute description of the last spring fashions. The arrival of the tea and coffee was therefore to her no unwelcome interruption.

But the occupations attending the tea-table were scarcely commenced, when the approach of Sir Henry Seymour from the dining-room was announced by the quickly repeated sound of his knotted cane, which kept due measure with his hurried footsteps along the well polished floor of the hall, as it preserved the worthy baronet from its slippery influence. "Why, Selina! Mrs. Galton! Selina!" exclaimed he, hastily opening the door, "Who is it? what is it? are there any more asked to day? have I forgot any one? bless my stars!" "What is the matter?" exclaimed both ladies at once. "Matter!" quoth Sir Henry, "why a coach and four's the matter, and a man galloping like the devil up the long avenue is the matter. God forgive my swearing. Well, to be sure, that I should never have thought of them! Who can it be? I have certainly offended some of my neighbours! Good Lord!" The ladies had by this time thronged to the windows to see the unusual sight, except Miss Webberly, who affected to keep at a distance, though she could not refrain from peeping over their heads as she stood on tip-toe. At the same instant, all the family dogs joined in one chorus of welcome; and the equestrian, arriving at full speed, jumped off his horse, and pulling the door-bell with a vehemence it had seldom felt before, so electrified poor Sir Henry, that he almost unconsciously repaired with unpremeditated haste to the scene of action. "I say, old Square-toes," vociferated the stranger, "is this Harry Seymour's castle?" "Ye-e-s," answered its hospitable owner, whilst astonishment and indignation impeded his utterance. "Ye-es! why you look as queer as the castle spectre yourself. Well, send somebody for my horse, for here's my lord and lady; and, I say, order beds." Perhaps Sir Henry would in his turn equally have astonished his unexpected visitor, had not a sudden turn of the open barouche, as it approached the door, presented to his view the faces of Lord and Lady Eltondale. "Why, Gad's my life! Good Lord! Selina, here's your aunt! Good Lord! well to be sure!" The name of "aunt," a title that always called forth from Selina's affectionate heart sentiments of the tenderest gratitude and delight, acted like a talisman on the lovely girl, and brought her in an instant to the spot with sparkling eyes, glowing cheeks, and steps of fairy lightness; while Mrs. Galton, who better knew the aunt she was about to meet, advanced to offer a more sober, though not less polite reception.

From the side of the barouche next the door descended Lord Eltondale, with as much activity as his unwieldy body would permit, encumbered as it was by an immense bang-up coat, which, by a moderate computation of the specific gravity of like solids, would in all probability have increased the weight of the ponderous carcase it enclosed to nearly that of his Lordship's own prize ox. With much less alacrity his fair spouse prepared to alight; an open pelisse, wrapped in a thousand folds, partially concealed her yet beautiful figure, while an enormous London rustic bonnet, with the affectation of simplicity and the real stamp of fashion, equally disguised her face. During that time, Lord Eltondale, in no subdued tone of voice, was expressing his lively pleasure at meeting Sir Henry, almost dislocating Mrs. Galton's wrists with the fervency of salutation, and with no less zeal imprinting oscular proofs of satisfaction on the fair retiring cheek of his niece. Lady Eltondale had full time to kiss her white hand in turn to each individual, to commit her smelling-bottle and work bag to the particular charge of the footman who had preceded them, and to descend leisurely from the carriage with apparent timidity, but real anxiety, to save her shawls, and exhibit her well-turned ancle to Mordaunt, who supported her faltering steps.

"Why, Gad's my life, I'm glad to see you all, though I never should have thought of it," exclaimed Sir Henry, his wig nearly as much turned round as the brains underneath it. "Why, Bell, what the devil brings you here?—Come to spend the summer, eh, with that chaise full of band boxes? Well, to be sure, to think of your coming to Deane Hall again! But I can't reach your mouth till you kick off that trumpet you've on." "Good God!" exclaimed Lady Eltondale with an involuntary shudder, but instantaneously recovering herself, "I am quite delighted, my dear brother, to find you in such charming spirits. How do, Mrs. Galton? I declare you look younger than ever. And Selina! why, child, you are almost as tall as I am." Selina's first impulse had been to throw herself into Lady Eltondale's arms, believing innocently that an "aunt" was another Mrs. Galton. But the boisterous bonhomie of the Viscount's compliments, and still more the fashionable frigidity of Lady Eltondale's address, were repulsive to her feelings, and she unconsciously withdrew to that part of the hall to which Mordaunt had retired, whilst a tear trembled on her long eye-lashes. "She is not at all like aunt Mary," said Selina in a half whisper, "I'm sure I shan't like her." "But she will surely like you, Selina," answered Mordaunt.—"Come, you foolish girl," continued he, taking her hand, "don't you know aunt Mary said this morning, you were almost old enough to do the honours yourself! Let us see your coup d'essai." Meantime Sir Henry and Mrs. Galton led the travellers to the drawing-room, and introduced them to the wondering party they had left there.

Lady Eltondale returned their salutations with a sweeping reverence, between a bow and a curtsy, accompanied by one of her most fascinating smiles; and walking deliberately to the head of the room, "I am afraid, my dear Mrs. Galton, we have discomposed you;—we have arrived at an unseasonable moment," said her Ladyship in a voice of dulcet sweetness; though this demi-apology was accompanied by a look round the room, which plainly indicated that the fair speaker felt assured her arrival would at any time have discomposed such a company. "Well, Sir Henry," bellowed out Lord Eltondale, "how goes on the farm? I shall taste your beef admirably—I'm confoundedly hungry." "Hungry!—Beef—Good Lord!—Bless my heart, haven't dined yet? Now I should never have thought of that! Why, Selina! Mrs. Galton! Selina! do order something to be got ready directly. Bless my heart—not dined! why it's past seven o'clock! James! John! I say, Wilson!" "Pray, my dear brother," said the Viscountess, seating herself, "don't trouble yourself; a pÂttiÉ, a Maintenon, anything will do for us." "Aye, aye, Sir Henry, give us a beef steak or a mutton chop; any thing will do for us, if there is but enough." Lady Eltondale's fragile form underwent that species of delicate convulsion, between a shudder of horror and a shrug of contempt, which was her usual commentary on her lord's speeches; and very calmly untying her bonnet, she threw it on a chair at some distance, and discovered a little French cap, from beneath which a glossy ringlet of jet black hair had strayed not quite unbidden. She then no less leisurely proceeded to slip from under her silken coat, of which young Webberly, with officious velocity, flew to relieve her, though she still retained as many shawls as she could well dispose of in attitudinal drapery, without regarding the too apparent contrast they formed to the transparent summer clothing, which shaded, but scarcely hid her once perfect form. Mrs. Sullivan's impatience to be recognized would not suffer her to wait till the tedious ceremony of disrobing was finished; but finding her curtsies, and her nods, and her smiles, and her flutterings, had not yet procured her the notice she was so ambitious to obtain, she gave an audible preluding "hem!" and then addressed Lady Eltondale with "'Pon honour, my lady, I'm delighted to counter your ladyship. Your ladyship looks wastly vell. How is that 'ere pretty cretur, your Ladyship's monkey?" Lady Eltondale turning her head quickly round at the first sound of the sharp discordant voice that now assailed her ear, saw something so irresistibly attractive in the vessel of clay from which it proceeded, that she found it impossible immediately to withdraw her eyes, and, taking up her glass, remained in total silence for some moments, examining the grotesque figure opposite to her, displayed as it was to particular advantage in the operation of opening and shutting a brilliant scarlet fan with accelerated motion. "Forgive me, my dear madam—I am quite ashamed; but really your name has escaped my recollection:—your person I should think impossible to forget." A polite inclination of an admirably turned head and neck concealed the sarcasm of this equivocal compliment. "To be sure, my lady," continued the gratified Mrs. Sullivan, "ve town ladies can't get our wisiting lists off book like primers, he! he! he!—Sulliwan, my lady, Sulliwan's my name, and them there two girls are my daughters, and that there——" "Indeed, Mrs. Silly-one, you do me much honour," interrupted her Ladyship. "Selina, my love, I want to talk to you;—how goes on music?" "I think, Lady Eltondale," said Miss Cecilia Webberly, with assumed nonchalance, "the last time you and I were together was at the Lord Mayor's ball—a sweet girl that Lucy Nathin is!" "Brother, you must let La Fayette dress this dear girl's hair to-morrow; these ringlets will be superbe done À la corbeille." "Yes, my Lady, I quite agree with you, my Lady. All Miss Seymour vants is a little winishing and warnishing, as we hearties say. Her bodies ought to be cut down, my Lady; and her petticoats cut up, my Lady, and she would be quite another guess figure, my Lady. Six weeks in town would quite halter her hair and her mane; and as for music, Pinsheette's the man to improve her in vice." "Pucit-ta-a-a, mother!" screamed Cecilia, "can you ever learn that man's name?"

A most opportune summons to the "beef-steak" relieved Lady Eltondale from the discussion, which was on the point of commencing between mother and daughter. She rose with an air of dignity, that immediately silenced both combatants; and, while she leaned on Sir Henry's offered arm, she drew Selina's through her own, and, turning to Mrs. Galton, said with a bewitching smile, "You must spare this Hebe to be my cup-bearer. I almost envy you having monopolized her so long, notwithstanding all she has gained by it." Mordaunt, who had hitherto stood aloof, now advanced to open the door for them, and smiled significantly to Selina as they passed; while Webberly, who had just sense enough to perceive the distance of Lady Eltondale's manner, called loudly for his mother's carriage. The rest of the party, who had hitherto remained in dumb astonishment, gladly took the hint, and began the tedious ceremony of curtsying, bidding good night, and packing up; leaving Mrs. Galton at liberty to do the honours of the second dinner table, which lasted till nearly the hour when the good Baronet usually retired to rest.