"No, no," cried she, "I was very foolish; all I cared about in the matter was your feeling towards myself." A kiss of reconciliation settled the matter, and Lord Penrhyn again composed himself in his most composing arm-chair.
"What an expensive thing marriage is!" was his latest reflection—Nota Bene. The tables were sent in next morning; at first objected to, but afterwards submitted to remain in compliance with, and as a mark of submission to, her husband's will.
It was fated, however, that Lord Penrhyn was to court "Tired nature's (and temper's), sweet restorer, balmy sleep," in vain that night; for before he relaxed himself into repose from his contemplation of the expence that marriage had brought on his devoted head and purse, a loud rap came to the door, and Charles Penrhyn entered into the dinner-room. He had some business about which he wished to speak to his young relative, and on that account he roused himself up; business which, with an Englishman, is predominant over even rest and digestion.
"And now," said Charles, the discussion being at an end, "will you let me speak a little on my own business?"
"Your business!" exclaimed Lord Penrhyn; "what possible business can you have?"
"Why, not much at present," returned the other; "and that is the very cause of my speaking. I wish to have more. The fact is, I want something to do.
