Mr. A., "though fond of show, starved his servants," we replied, we did
not wish to listen to the tale. If we heard that Mr. B. though uxorious
in public, was known to beat his wife in private, we cared not for the
matrimonial anecdote. When maiden ladies assured us that Mrs. C. cheated
at cards, we smiled, for we had no _dealings_ with her; and when we were
told that Mrs. D. never paid her bills, we repeated not the account to
the next person we met; for as we were not her creditors, her accounts
concerned us not.

We settled ourselves, much to our satisfaction, in our provincial abode:
it was a watering-place, which my husband, as a bachelor, had frequented
during its annual season.

As a watering-place he knew it well. Such places are vastly entertaining
to visiters, having no "local habitation," and no "name"--caring not for
the politics of the place, and where, if any thing displeases them, they
may pay for their lodgings, order post-horses, and never suffer their
names to appear in the arrival book again.

But with those who _live_ at watering-places, it is quite another
affair. For the first six months we were deemed a great acquisition.
There were two or three _sets_ in Pumpington Wells--the good, the bad,
and the indifferent. The bad left their cards, and asked us to dances,
the week we arrived; the indifferent knocked at our door in the first
month; and even before the end of the second, we were on the visiting
lists of the good. We knew enough of society to be aware that it is
impolitic to rush into the embraces of _all_ the arms that are extended
to receive strangers; but feeling no wish to affront any one in return
for an intended civility, we gave card for card; and the doors of good,
bad, and indifferent, received our names.