Solomon. He made them both quite ashamed.
I could not help crying when Sarah Jane went
off with her husband: which she did that evening:
though I was very glad to be rid of them.
Luckily, they had lately settled at a village
ten miles away.

We were all in the greatest state about Pet,
and the dear sweet darling squire's lady she
made. As Mrs. Mountjoy said, "Her manner
of giving the school-prizes is quite perfection."
And our great county people paid her the
greatest compliments, and quite loved her. No
party was thought anything of unless our
squire's lady was there. One person admired
her grace and figure, another her sweet voice
and pretty mode of speaking, a third thought
her so intelligent, a fourth so lovable, while
all admired her taste in dress, and quoted her
authority far and near. As for the poor, they
adored her; as for the imperious servants, they
worshipped her.

And did she at last love the dear good squire,
who had so instantaneously discovered what a
darling she was?

We could not tell. The "old thing" seemed
necessary to her happiness, if one might judge
by the many times she invoked him. Not as
heretofore, in a shy half-ashamed way, but
openly, and rather ostentatiously.

"Where is my old thing?" she would say,
imperiously. "I am here at a loss for what to
do or say, and there is no old thing to tell
me."

She had settled it between her and me,
that when she required me for any particular
purpose, she was to place her pocket-handkerchief
at her bedroom window: upon the seeing
of which, I was to hasten up to the great
house.

Imagine my state of mind when one morning,
on looking up at the great house, it appeared as
if there was a white signal in every window!

"My goodness me, Robert, look there! They
must have quarrelled; it will be Sarah Jane
over again. Never, never, more will I make
another match. Oh, my dear Robert, help me
on with my shawl. Where is my bonnet? Do
come with me; I shall cry my eyes out. Never,
never, will I make another match."

Robert kindly consented to come with me:
partly moved to do so, he said, lest I really
should cry my eyes out, and then who would
there be to do everything for him? But I knew
better. He was just as anxious as I was. So
we hurried up. We took the liberty of not
ringing at the front door bell, but ran in by the
garden entrance.

There, in her boudoir, the prettiest and
sweetest of all rooms, blue all over, lay Pet on
her sofa, her face buried in the cushions.

"Oh, my darling child!" I exclaimed; "let
your Patty comfort you. Tell me, dear, what
has he done? What has happened?"

"Oh, Patty, I am of all creatures eversomuch
the most unhappy."

"My darling, my dearest, sweetest darling,
what can I do to show my devotion to you?"

"That is what he said; but he goes all the
same. Oh, Patty, a miserable man of a lawyer
has sent for Oliver on odious business, and he
has gone away for two days. I could not bear
myself; I am so much unhappy, so I sent for
you. And oh! if there is an accident—if a
smash on the train—I shall die; I know I shall
die. And I feel as if I hate Oliver's little
child that is coming, because I am not to
go with him, and be in the smash of the train
too."

"My goodness gracious me, Robert, am I
standing on my head or my heels?"

"Bodily, you are all right, Patty; mentally, I
can hardly say. But, at all events, you are not
so wholly distracted as to be any longer blind
to Pet's love for her husband."

"Love," sighed Pet; "I know not what
you call love. I want Oliver, my Oliver, my
own husband. I cannot live two days without
my old thing."

And Pet and I cried and laughed together,
and upon my word I think Robert was just
going to join us in both performances, when the
door opened, and in walked the squire. With
a cry of delight, Pet sprang up, and flew into his
arms, and then we heard sounds that——but,
however, it is not fair of me to tell. In fact,
the sounds very distinctly proved that Pet had
changed some of her ideas.

"Pet is a hypocrite," says Robert to me,
as he tucked my arm under his, and we sped
away home as quickly as we came." She has
loved him from the first."

"My dear Robert; our squire's lady—calling
her names."

"She is a hypocrite—you never gave me such
a hug."

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfleld," &c.
Now publishing, PART XI., price 1s., of
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.

Just published, bound in cloth, price 5s. 6d.,
THE TWELFTH VOLUME.