t? Must
you go too? Will you be so shabby as to leave us?" How could any man
stand it? William Wellington Hurst could not, it was very plain. At
first he looked astonished; wondered why on earth we couldn't all stay;
then protested he couldn't think of letting us go home by ourselves; a
piece of self-devotion which we at once desired might not be thought of;
then hesitated--he was meditating, no doubt, on the delight of
driving--how was he to get home? the inglorious occupant of the inside
of a drag; or the solitary tenant of a fly, (though I suggested he might
drive that if he pleased;) Couldn't Leicester go home, and I and he
follow together? I put in a decided negative; he looked from Mrs
Leicester's anxious face to Flora's, and surrendered at discretion. We
were to start at eight precisely in the tandem, and Miller and his
party, who were sure to wait for the fly, were to pick up Mr Wellington
Hurst as a supernumerary passenger at some hour unknown. And so we went
to dinner. Mrs Leicester marched off in triumph with her new capture, as
if fearful he might give her the slip after all, and committed Flora to
my custody. I was charitable enough, however, in consideration of all
circumstances, to give up my right of sitting next to her to Horace, and
established myself on the other side of the table, between Mrs Leicester
and her younger daughter; and a hard post I had of it. Mary would not
talk at all, and her mamma would do nothing else; and she was one of
those pertinacious talkers, too, who, not content with running on
themselves, and leaving you to put in an occasional interjection,
inflict upon you a cross-examination in its severest form, and insist
upon a definite and rational answer to every question. However, availing
myself of those legitimate qualifications of a witness, an unlimited
amount of impudence, and a determination not to criminate myself, I got
on pretty tolerably. Who did I think her daughter Flora like? I took the
opportunity of diligently examining that young lady's features for about
four minutes--not in the least to her confusion, for she scarcely
honoured me with a glance the whole time--and then declared the
resemblance to mamma quite startling. Mary? Oh, her father's eyes
decidedly; upon which the squire, whose pet she appeared to be--I
suppose it was the contrast between her quietness and Mrs Leicester's
incessant fidgeting that was so delightful--laughed, and took wine with
me. Then she to