ter of genuine admiration--forgetting
themselves, these Sir Plumes and Belindas, once in a way.

"I do hope the poor soul will not be deserted and undone--she's so
easy to serve--and all Bath, and, for that matter, Lon'on too, as I
believe, at her feet!" says Mrs. Price, emphatically, to young
Medlicot, whom she is patronizing for one night, because he knows
somewhat of plays and players; and who, in spite of his allegiance to
swimming, simpering Clarissa, would give a fortune to paint that pose.
Belvidera need fear no lolling, no sneering, no snapping at her little
peculiarities this night.

As she came on, "kind, good, and tender," telling poor distracted,
misguided Jaffier, in his humiliation, that she joyed more in him than
did his mother, Lady Betty darted a sharp, searching glance through the
boxes. Ah! yonder they were! The little girls the parson's daughters,
with their uncle the squire, fault-finding, but honourable. Two
round-faced, eager, happy girls, intent upon the play, and the great
London star, beautiful, bewitching Lady Betty, who is now looking at
them--yes, actually staring them full in the face with her deep,
melting, blue eyes, while she reassures her cowardly husband. How dared
uncle Rowland disparage her?

There was uncle Rowland, younger than Lady Betty had taken him for--not
more than five-and-forty--his coat trimmed with silver lace, a little
old-fashioned, and even a little shabby in such company, his Mechlin tie
rather out of date and already disordered, and his cocked-hat crushed
below his arm. His face is bluff and ruddy among his pinched and sallow
brethren: that of a big English gentleman, who hunted, shot, or fished,
or walked after his whistling ploughman every morning, and on occasions
daringly dashed in amongst the poachers by the palings of his park or
paddock on summer evenings; yet whose hands were reasonably white and
flexible, as if they handled other things than guns and fishing-rods,
and whose eyes, at once clear and meditative, had studied more than the
spire of his brother's church and the village street, more than quiet
country towns, and loud watering-places, and deep metropolises.

Master Rowland had no family ties beyond the Vicarage; and was in no
hurry to marry or settle, as the phrase went; though he was settled long
ago, and might have married once a year without any impediment from old
madam, as Mistress Betty would have been swift to suppose. He perfectly
approv