tion on that of Lady Anne, who was secretly planning a very desperate measure—nothing less than that of hinting to the old friend of the family that his visits ought in future to be "like those of angels, few and far between." This was more easily resolved than effected, not that Lady Anne had any tender misgivings, prompted by the recollection of much kindness, but Mr. Glentworth was too rich to be affronted lightly—an offer was not hopeless—and presents floated in the foreground, while legacies dimly filled the perspective in the distance. Moreover, she was afraid of him: the strong mind and the decided temper exercised their usual control over the weak and the irritable. A mother with a touch of sentiment might have talked with great effect of young and susceptible feelings, and have wound up with maternal anxiety for the happiness of her daughters. This was a view of the case that never occurred to Lady Anne—the heart was with her wholly, hors de combat—she only looked to the establishment, and the more she considered the matter, the more grave she considered the danger the said establishments were incurring.
Making a strong effort, she said at last, "Mr. Glentworth, I have for some time been wishing to speak to you." Of course her companion became at once attentive, and she, gaining courage at the sound of her own voice, went on. "You must be aware of what great importance it is to me to see my girls settled in life. Mr. Granard's imprudence."
