this mentioned in your house, because you must be sensible your father
would think it an idle womanish fear; and you know how anxious I am for
his esteem.

"Burn this, I beseech you----

"Upon second thoughts, I believe it will be best to tell the truth, and
the whole truth, to your father, if you should see that nothing else
will do----In short, I write in haste, and must trust now, as ever,
entirely to your discretion."


"Well, my dear," said Mr. Walsingham to his daughter, as the young lady
sat at the breakfast table looking over this note, "how long do you
mean to sit the picture of The Delicate Embarrassment? To relieve you
as far as in me lies, let me assure you that I shall not ask to see
this note of Mrs. Beaumont's, which as usual seems to contain some
mighty mystery."

"No great mystery; only----"

"Only--some minikin mystery?" said Mr. Walsingham. "Yes, '_Elle est
politique pour des choux et des raves_.'--This charming widow Beaumont
is _manoeuvrer_.[1] We can't well make an English word of it. The
species, thank Heaven! is not so numerous yet in England as to require
a generic name. The description, however, has been touched by one of
our poets:

'Julia's a manager: she's born for rule,
And knows her wiser husband is a fool.