that feeling or thought would be de trop. Between the hostess and the guest there was an old animosity. Young as he was at the time, he had seen the imprudence of Mr. Granard's way of living; he had often remonstrated, and the death of his father, with the subsequent derangement of his affairs, had alone prevented his following up his advice with such assistance as would have made it effectual.
Lady Anne smothered her dislike, because there was a hope of his marrying one of her daughters; and he subdued his because he could not allow it to interfere with his hope of serving the orphans of his old friend. The very dinner increased his anxiety—he saw that it was infinitely beyond Lady Anne's means; the same course of extravagance was therefore still being renewed, with the same disregard of consequences. The girls themselves interested him on their own account, not only for the nameless charm of youth and loveliness, but there was something natural and sweet about them, which he could hardly have believed possible in Lady Anne's daughters.
Still the conversation languished; Lady Anne was most unnecessarily anxious to impress upon Mr. Glentworth the success that they had met with in society, and that, if no longer rich, they were still the fashion. The girls were always restrained in their mother's presence; unconsciously they had learned that any display of feeling only excited her scorn, and they had acquired a habit of silence, because they had
