by her family in marrying a tailor's son for whom she did not care a chip, seeing the tailor's son was possessed of untold wealth. Now when one member of a household is making a struggle for a family, it is painful to see the benefit of that struggle negatived by the folly of another member. The future Mrs. Moffat did feel aggrieved by the fatuity of the young heir, and, consequently, took upon herself to look as much like her aunt De Courcy as she could do.
'Well, what is it?' said Frank, looking rather disgusted. 'What makes you stick your chin up and look in that way?' Frank had hitherto been rather a despot among his sisters, and forgot that the eldest of them was now passing altogether from under his sway to that of the tailor's son.
'Frank,' said Augusta, in a tone of voice which did honour to the great lessons she had lately received, 'aunt De Courcy wants to see you immediately in the small drawing-room;' and, as she said so, she resolved to say a few words of advice to Miss Thorne as soon as her brother should have left them.
'In the small drawing-room, does she? Well, Mary, we may as well go together, for I suppose it is tea-time now.'
'You had better go at once, Frank,' said Augusta; 'the countess will be angry if you keep her waiting. She has been expecting you these twenty minutes. Mary Thorne and I can return together.'
There was something in the tone in which the words, 'Mary Thorne,' were uttered, which made Mary at once draw herself up. 'I hope,' said she, 'that Mary Thorne will never be any hindrance to either of you.'
Frank's ear had also perceived that there was something in the tone of his sister's voice not boding comfort to Mary; he perceived that the De Courcy blood in Augusta's veins was already rebelling against the doctor's niece on his part, though it had condescended to submit itself to the tailor's son on her own part.
'Well, I am going,' said he; 'but look here, Augusta, if you say one word of Mary—'
Oh, Frank! Frank! you boy, you very boy! you goose, you silly goose! Is that the way you make love, desiring one girl not to tell of another, as though you were three children, tearing your frocks and trousers in getting through the same hedge together? Oh, Frank! Frank! you, the full-blown heir of Greshamsbury? You, a man already endowed with a man's discretion? You, the forward rider, that did but now threaten young Harry Baker and the Honourable John to eclipse them by prowess in the field? You, of age? Why, thou canst not as yet have left thy mother's apron-string!
