ed Margaret, starting up and standing before
her sister. "You did not tell him _that_, Laura!"

"Indeed, I did! I have no idea of seeing that wife of his benefited in
any way. She married him poor; let her remain so."

Margaret was gone in an instant. She almost flew down the street to her
husband's office, and, fortunately, met him on her way. In a few words,
she related to him what had passed.

His indignation was not less than hers; and, before a quarter of an hour
elapsed, George Seymour was closeted with Mr. Layton, his cheek flushed
and his eye bright with excitement, as, without one word of
circumlocution, he told the plain, unvarnished truth.

Mr. Layton was much shocked, and hastened to make his offer to Lewis
Clavering in "plain black and white." Before night, the note was
received, and Lewis and his inimitable Cora had the prospect of comfort
and happiness with the surely-coming salary of two thousand a year.
Their grateful reception of this intervention in their behalf, their
unmurmuring hearts at past suffering, would form a bright example to
hundreds possessing perfect independence and no cares.

Laura's disappointment knew no bounds. Margaret's joy was complete. How
she and Cora talked over this good fortune, and how silvery and sweet
their merry laughter seemed to Lewis and Seymour, who were listening to
every word these two said. They were now discussing a marriage on the
tapis.

Clara was fortunate enough to secure an offer from a widower with a son
older than his future stepmother. But Mr. Penrose was very rich, and
could be hid, like Tarpeia of old, under jewels and gold. Clara loathed,
and would often turn from him with disgust, as her eye fell upon his
great clumsy form "fitting tight" (as the mantua-makers say) to the
Louis Quatorze, in which he regularly ensconced himself. His false teeth
were unexceptionable; his cheeks round and shiny. He bore one
resemblance to poor Uncle Ned:

"For he had no hair on the top of his head,
The place where the hair ought to be;"

and, in case of any danger, Clara could easily screen herself behind him
and never be seen. He was in a melancholy state of extreme health,
though there was a hope of apoplexy in his case; and all that Clara
could rejoice at was his tendency to severe gout, which would prevent
his accompanying her upon many occasions in public.

Margaret ventured a hint upon the disparity of age and disposition, a
sad inequality to