"Poor mademoiselle!--she is, indeed, a most affectionate creature," said
Mrs. Marston, who felt called upon to say something.

"Come, Marston, will you contribute nothing to the general fund of
approbation?" said Sir Wynston, who was gifted by nature with an amiable
talent for teasing, which he was fond of exercising in a quiet way. "We
have all, but you, said something handsome of our absent young friend."

"I never praise anybody, Wynston; not even you," said Marston, with an
obvious sneer.

"Well, well, I must comfort myself with the belief that your silence
covers a great deal of good-will, and, perhaps, a little admiration,
too," answered his cousin, significantly.

"Comfort yourself in any honest way you will, my dear Wynston," retorted
Marston, with a degree of asperity, which, to all but the baronet
himself, was unaccountable. "You may be right, you may be wrong; on a
subject so unimportant it matters very little which; you are at perfect
liberty to practice delusions, if you will, upon yourself."

"By-the-bye, Mr. Marston, is not your son about to come down here?" asked
Doctor Danvers, who perceived that the altercation was becoming, on
Marston's part, somewhat testy, if not positively rude.

"Yes; I expect him in a few days," replied he, with a sudden gloom.

"You have not seen him, Sir Wynston?" asked the clergyman.

"I have that pleasure yet to come," said the baronet.