he advantage she
thinks.--Phoebe! tell Betty to bid Baxter bring hither a bottle of the
best Port O Port--that from the little ark in the further cellar.--And
how does Mrs Marcella this afternoon?"

"As cross as two sticks," said Mrs Jane.

"She is a great sufferer," observed Madam, in her kindest manner.

Mrs Jane made no reply, unless her next remark could properly be called
one.

"Mrs Darcy came last night."

"Last night!" answered Madam, in accents of surprise. "Dear! I quite
understood she was not to arrive before this evening. You have seen
her, Mrs Jane?"

"Seen her! Oh dear, yes; I've seen her. We were schoolfellows."

"Were you, indeed? That I did not know. 'Twill be a pleasure to you,
Mrs Jane, to have an old schoolfellow so near."

"Depends," said Mrs Jane sententiously.

"No doubt," answered Madam. "Were you and Mrs Eleanor friends at
school, Mrs Jane?"

"No, Madam."

"Not? Perhaps you were not near enough of an age."

"Only six months between. No; that wasn't it. I was a silly
scapegrace, and she was a decent, good maid. Too good for me. I
haven't got any better. And she hasn't got any handsomer."

"Pray forgive me," replied Madam, with a smile, "but I cannot think that
name applies to you now, Mrs Jane. And was her nephew with Mrs
Eleanor; as he engaged?"

"Large as life," said Mrs Jane.

"And how large is that, in his case?" inquired Madam.

"Asking him or me?" retorted Mrs Jane. "_I_ should say, about as big
as a field mouse. He thinks himself big enough to overtop all the
elephants in creation. Marcus Welles! Oh, yes, I'll mark him well,--
you trust me."

It was tolerably evident that Mr Welles had not succeeded in
fascinating Mrs Jane, whatever he might do to other people.

"I was told he was extreme handsome?" remarked Madam, in a tone of
inquiry.

Mrs Jane's exclamation in response sounded very like--"Pish!"

"You think not, Mrs Jane?"

"Folks' eyes are so different, Madam," answered Mrs Jane. "Chinamen's
beauties wouldn't go for much in England, I guess. He's a silly,
whimsical, finnicking piece--that's what he is! Pink velvet coat, laced
with silver. Buff breeches. White silk stockings with silver clocks.
No cloak. And raining cats and dogs and pitchforks. Reckon Eleanor got
all the sense that was going in that family. None left for Mr
Mark-me-well. Missed it, anyhow."

From that day forward, behind his back, Mark-me-well was the only name