178 
Dorrington’s at seven. And now, Mary, 
dear, good-bye,” said her husband, ap- 
proaching and kissing her cheek with the 
air of one who confers a favor. 
“Tn time to dress,” repeated his wife, 
after he had quitted the room; “that will 
be full six hours—and this is still our honey- 
moon ! a) *® * * * * 
“How much more pleasant it is to dine 
thus alone, than with the crowd of people 
we met yesterday at Lord Dorrington’s,” 
observed the Hon. Mrs. Henry Manners to 
her husband, the following day, as he sat 
sipping his wine. ‘This, Henry, is the 
first quiet dinner we have had together since 
our return to town.” 
‘We had plenty of them at Broadland 
Park, my dear,” replied her husband, look- 
ing contemplatively at his wine-glass. 
“ And were they not delightful? And 
then those sweet evening walks!” 
“Yes, and your bickerings with the 
gardener,” suggested the other. 
“Oh! that obstinate old man; what a 
paradise the garden might be made if he 
would only—"’ 
“Nay, my dear, pray don’t renew the dis- 
cussion. But how do you propose spending 
the evening, Mary ? we shall be killed with 
ennut if we sit here alone.” 
“Henry!” said his wife, reproachfully. 
“ Nay, love, I did not mean that J should 
be killed, but I thought perhaps you might.” 
‘Fear not—here is my work-box. Do 
you remember the sad havoc you once made 
with my reels of silk ?” said the lady, look- 
ing archly. 
But she might as well have looked archly 
at the Duke of York’s monument—for 
Manners was fast becoming weary, in spite 
of himself. 
““T promised to meet Lord Sweepstakes 
at Richmond to-night,” he observed, 
musingly. 
His wife was piqued; for although no 
nation in the world can endure ennwz like the 
English, there is certainly none at less pains 
to conceal it—and Manners at length was 
only kept from downright petulance by the 
appearance of an evening paper. 
This he listlessly took up, and placing the 
lights in the most convenient way for him- 
self—to the total disregard of his companion 
—he began to pore over the columns in the 
desperate hope of finding some amusement. 
But it were tedious to tell how a dull 
evening was spent; and we fear our readers 
would hardly thank us for such a narration. 
“Suffice it to say,” as the journals have it, 
that Henry Manners sat it out; not however 
without making the secret resolution, that 
so long as the gift of reason was continued 
to him, he would never submit to such an 
ordeal again. 
KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 
‘Did I hear you order your cab at one? ” 
said Mrs. Manners to her husband, as she 
entered the breakfast- parlor on the following 
morning. 
‘“‘ Yes, my dear,” replied the other, pouring 
out a cup of coffee. 
“ Where do you go to-day ?” 
“Really, my dear, that depends altogether 
upon circumstances.” 
“ But Henry, I had arranged that you and 
I were to accompany my sister, Lady 
Powderflask,to Squeelini’s morning concert.” 
“Knowing how particularly fond I am of 
music,’ replied her husband. 
“Nay, but then to accompany me. You 
know { cannot yet be seen in public without 
7ou.” 
‘“‘T declare, Mary, you are as full of whims 
as a superannuated Lady Patroness. What 
earthly harm can there be in your going to 
a morning concert without dragging me there, 
when you know my detestation of all concerts, 
and morning concerts in particular ? ”’ 
‘“ Dragging you! ”’ cried his wife, thoroughly 
piqued. “I am astonished to hear you use a 
word like that.” 
‘IT know none more applicable,” replied 
her husband, quietly ; ‘‘ seeing that you are 
not content with my having remained at 
home all yesterday evening to oblige you.” 
“To oblige me!” cried the beautiful and 
once fascinating Mary Dudley, in unfeigned 
astonishment ; and putting back her chair 
with a domestic tragedy start—‘ Oh! this 
is past all enduring—it is mere wanton—” 
“My dear Mary, let us have no ‘scenes’ 
for goodness sake! Just employ your own 
excellent judgment (h-e-m!) fur one moment, 
and you will see that it cannot be expected 
that J should continue every day, hour, and 
minute of my existence, in attendance on my 
wife! Muchas I love you, Mary,” continued 
he, with his mouth full of buttered toast, 
‘« that, you know, is quite impossible.” 
A considerable pause succeeded; and 
Manners was beginning to congratulate him- 
self upon the success of what he flattered 
himself was “ firmness,” when, to his utter 
amazement, his wife, towards whom he had 
not once ventured to look, now burst into a 
flood of tears ! , 
Starting up, he rushed to her side, and 
made use of all his former terms of endear- 
ment, which were yet fresh in his memory ; 
repeating them almost mechanically. But 
his wife’s agitation only continued to increase; 
and dreading the usual jinale of a fainting 
fit, he pulled the bell violently, and sum- 
moned her attendant, who instantly—as they 
always do—made matters worse, by exhibit- 
ing a little agitation of her own, out of 
sympathy to the “dreadful way” of her 
“‘ dear mistress.” 
Rap, rap, rap—rap, rap, rap! 


