say they would be greatly obliged if we would
not keep them waiting, as they had orders to
take us up at once to the great house, and
then go for the Mountjoys, and Smiths, and
Macolls.

We were so amiable as to hurry at once, and
I smoothed my curls in the carriage going there,
for the coachman's broad back made a capital
looking-glass with the window up.

"I had better have no hair at all," I said to
Robert, "than keep them waiting."

"I don't agree with you," answered Robert;
"if my whiskers had been cantankerous, they
should have waited until I had brought them to
order."

Not that he would have done such a thing
for the world, for I must say this of Robert's
whiskers, they have a natural curl in them,
unlike other person's, and so becoming—but about
Pet.

She looked so pretty when she came forward
to greet us: not fine, or grand, or supercilious,
but just herself, beautifully dressed, and
conscious that she was beautifully dressed, and
looked well. As for the squire, he beamed with
admiration. He could not take his eyes off her,
and, upon my word, if she didn't seem to
enjoy it.

And as if to reward him, she said, with a
little sort of quick glance under her eyes, as I
admired a new bracelet she had on:

"Yes, it is the prettiest I ever saw; Oliver
gave it me."

And then she said another thing. She said
to me:

"I have no care, no want, no ugly business
of teaching. I arrange my dress, I walk
through my house, I give great orders, I
send mamma all the notes the old thing gives
me."

"Old thing!" I exclaimed, aghast.

"Yes, old thing; you are 'old thing'
sometimes, and Robert. See, now, I will call him
by that name. Old thing, I want you!" And
the squire turned to her, delighted, bending
down his stately back to listen to her little
whisper, as pleased as if she had said
"darling."

"Oh! my dear Robert," said I, "did you
ever see anything so delightful, and did you
ever enjoy yourself more? Was it not a merry
dinner, and how we all chatted afterwards?
When I remember what I have endured in that
great drawing-room, what a blessed change!"

Lo and behold, as we drove up home to our
own door after that delightful entertainment,
there did we see Sarah Jane.

My goodness me, what a scene I had with
her! She had run away from home in a pet. I
never saw Robert so angry, and he was quite in
a way with me because I did not tell her she
was a "ridiculous fool"—that is what he called
her, up-stairs, behind his bed-curtains, and much
worse things too, though of course I shall never
tell them.

I thought it my duty to soothe her, but, in
the midst of all her anger, I could not exactly
make out what Mr. Bellenden had done to vex
her, and I was rather nettled, too, when she
said, "There you are, dressed out so gay, looking
so happy, and all because you have married
the squire to a common little French girl who
does whatever you bid her."

"She does not do anything of the sort; she
has a will and a way of her own, and the squire
fell in love with her all of his own accord."

"But you helped the marriage on, you
encouraged him. You made the girl accept him,
and all the world knows she does not care one
atom for him. Now—if—if—I had on—only
known the squire wa—wanted to mar—marry
—I would ha—ha—have had him—my—my—
my own—self."

"You wicked creature!" I exclaimed, horror-
stricken. "How dare you talk like that—a
married woman, and Robert in bed, and no one
to help me. Don't sob like that, but behave
yourself."

Such a wicked creature as Sarah Jane I did
not think existed.

However, I believe it was only envy. She
was always of that turn of mind. She could
not bear others to have what she had not, and
I dare say she thought if she had only known
sooner, she might have caught the squire. She
had a good opinion of herself, had Sarah Jane,
which, I am sorry to say, I had not; and, as
for Robert, he hated her very name, and, I dare
say, hated herself; only, being a Christian, he
did not like to say so.

He says Sarah Jane made up to him. Well,
I don't blame her. All I have to say is, that if
any woman ever thought she had a chance of
marrying Robert, she was a very lucky woman,
though I don't know what I should have done
if she had. However, that is neither here nor
there, now. I am his wife, and if it should
please God, I hope to be that happiest of all
creatures a good many years yet. And if I am
not, and Robert becomes a widower, and
marries again, I think it won't be Sarah Jane.

Next day, nothing would satisfy Sarah Jane
but that I must take her up to the great house,
to pay her respects to the bride. But she only
wanted to feed her envy. That evening Mr.
Bellenden drove over in his dog-cart, and, in
his indolent and drawling way, said:

"I thought this cottage a sure find for
runaway wives. I knew I should unkennel my
fox."

Upon which Sarah Jane flew at him for being
vulgar, and they had a scene. I do not know
how it would have ended, had not Robert
said:

"I will not have my house disturbed by your
brawls. If you, Mrs. Bellenden, would only
imitate my Patty, and you, Bellenden, think
more of your wife and less of yourself, there
might be some chance of happiness for you.
But you shall not fasten upon my wife the
stigma of your own faults. I don't desire to
see either of you again until you can better
understand the duties of each to the other."

Robert, when he is in earnest, is as solemn as