dear mamma."

"That is what I am seeking to do, George," said the lady, looking at him
meaningly. "Don't you think it is time you threw off this indifference,
and ceased to trifle? You are giving pain to a true, sweet woman."

"I! I giving pain to a true, sweet woman? Absurd! My dearest mother,
do you for a moment suppose that I ever thought seriously about Beatrice
Lambent?"

"It has been one of my cherished hopes that you did, George, and I know
that she feels your cool indifference most keenly."

"Nonsense, dear!" he cried, laughing; "why, what crotchet is this that
you have got into your head?"

"Crotchet?"

"Yes, dear--crotchet."

"I am speaking in all seriousness to you, my son. George, your
behaviour to Beatrice Lambent is not correct."

"My dear mother," said the young man firmly, "do you mean to tell me
that you honestly believe Beatrice Lambent cares for me?"

"Most assuredly, George."

"Poor lass, then! That's all I can say."

"Why, George, have you not led her on by your attentions for these many
months past?"

"Certainly not! I have been as civil and attentive to her as I have
been to other ladies--that is all. What nonsense! Really, mother, it
is absurd."

"It is not absurd, George, but a very serious matter."

"Well, serious enough, of course, for I should be sorry if Miss Lambent
suffered under a misunderstanding."

"Why let it be a misunderstanding, George? Beatrice is handsome."

"Ye-es," said the young man, gazing down at his paper.

"Well born."

"I suppose so."

"Thoroughly intellectual."

"Let's see: it's Byron, isn't it, who makes `hen-pecked-you-all' rhyme
to `intellectual'?"

"George!"

"My dear mother."

"Beatrice is amiable; has a good portion from her late uncle--in fact,
taken altogether, a most eligible _partie_, and I like her very much."

"But, my dear mother," said the young squire, "it is a question of my
marriage, is it not?"

"Of course, my son."

"Then it would be necessary for me to like her as well--from my
commonplace point of view, to love her."

"Certainly, my dear; and that I believe at heart you do."

"Then, your dear, affectionate, motherly heart is slightly in error, for
I may as well frankly tell you that I do not like Beatrice Lambent, and
what is far more, I am sure that I should never love her enough to make
her my wife."

"My dear George, you give me very great pain."

"I am very sorry, my dear mother, but you must al