"I shall not charge you for them till you are in cash, Lady Anne, nor will I be hard upon you when that time comes, though I cannot forget that you have never given a biscuit to my child since he was born."
As Penrhyn spoke, he unclasped his pocket-book, and laid in the three notes one after another, as if a single crease would be their ruin. Lady Anne's eyes were on the process, and the bitter scorn of her countenance continued till the last of the family (which she could have apostrophized as Macduff, his children, "all my little ones—all") was laid in its cradle, when she broke at once into a loud laugh, but of such discordant sound as really to frighten all her daughters, and, so soon as she could any way speak, exclaimed:—
"Well done, Charles, you really are a droll creature. I am sure Matthews, the acting man, is a fool to you; 'tis well I don't see you often, for sure enough, as he says, that boy would be the death of me."
Poor Lady Anne was interrupted by a fit of coughing so violent as to alarm all who stood around her; and Penrhyn inwardly determined that she should have all her own way, since it could not be for long; it was, however, a great consolation when she was able to speak, that she said, in a languid voice:—
