THE next afternoon Miss Charity Etherage and her sister Agnes, were joined in their accustomed walk upon the green of Cardyllian by Captain Shrapnell, a jaunty half-pay officer of five-and-fifty, who represented to his own satisfaction, the resident youth and fashion of that quiet watering-place.

“I give you my honour, Miss Etherage,” said he, placing himself beside Miss Agnes, “I mistook you yesterday, for Lady Fanny Mersey. Charming person she is, and I need not say, perfectly lovely.” A little arch bow gave its proper point to the compliment. “She has gone, however, I understand; left Llwynan yesterday. Is that young Verney’s boat? No, oh no — nothing like so sharp. He’s a very nice fellow, young Verney.”

This was put rather interrogatively, and Miss Agnes, thinking that she had blushed a little, blushed more, to her inexpressible chagrin, for she knew that Captain Shrapnell was watching her with the interest of a gossip.

“Nice? I dare say. But I really know him so very slightly,” said Miss Agnes.

“Come, come; that won’t do,” said the Captain, very archly. “You forget that I was sitting in our club window, yesterday evening, when a certain party were walking up and down. Ha, ha, you do. We’re tolerably clear-sighted up there, and old Rogers keeps our windows rubbed; and the glass is quite brilliantly transparent, ha, ha, ha! hey?”

“I think your windows are made of multiplying glasses, and magnifying glasses, and every kind of glass that distorts and discolours,” said Miss Agnes, a little pettishly. “I don’t know how else it is that you all see such wonderful sights as you do, through them.”

“Well, they do, certainly. Some of our friends do colour a little,” said the Captain, with a waggish yet friendly grin, up at the great bow window. “But in this case, you’ll allow there was no great opportunity for colour, the tints of nature are so beautiful,” and Shrapnell fired off this little saying, with his bow and smile of fascination. “Nor, by Jove! for the multiplying glasses either, for more than three in that party would have quite spoiled it; now, wouldn’t it, hey? ha, ha, ha! The two principals, and a gooseberry, eh? Ha, ha, ha!”

“What is a gooseberry?” inquired Miss Charity, peremptorily.

“A delightful object in the garden, Miss Etherage, a delightful object everywhere. The delight of the young especially, hey, Miss Agnes? ha, ha! hey? and one of the sweetest products of nature Eh, Miss Agnes? ha, ha, ha! Miss Etherage, I give you my honour every word I say is true.”

“I do declare, Captain Shrapnell, it seems to me you have gone perfectly mad!” said Miss Charity, who was out-spoken and emphatic.

“Always a mad fellow, Miss Etherage, ha, ha, ha! Very true; that’s my character, hey? ha, ha, ha, egad! So the ladies tell me,” said the gay, young Captain. “Wish I’d a guinea for every time they’ve called me mad, among them. I give you my honour I’d be a rich fellow this moment.”

“Now, Captain Shrapnell,” said Miss Charity, with a frank stare with her honest goggle eyes, “you are talking the greatest nonsense I ever heard in my life.”

“Miss Agnes, here, does not think so, hey?” giggled the Captain. “Now, come, Miss Agnes, what do you think of young Verney, hey? There’s a question.”

How Miss Agnes hated the gibing, giggling wretch, and detested the club of whose prattle and gossip he was the inexhaustible spokesman; and would at that moment have hailed the appearance of a ship-of-war with her broadside directed upon the bow window of that haunt, with just, of course, such notice to her worthy father, whose gray head was visible in it, as was accorded to the righteous Lot — under orders, with shot, shell, rockets, and marlin-spikes, to blow the entire concern into impalpable dust.

It must be allowed that Miss Agnes was unjust; that it would not have been fair to visit upon the harmless and, on the whole, good-natured persons who congregated in that lively receptacle, and read the Times through their spectacles there, the waggeries and exaggerations of the agreeable captain, and to have reached that incorrigible offender, and demolished his stronghold at so great a waste of human life.

“Come, now; I won’t let you off, Miss Aggie. I say, there’s a question. What do you say? Come, now, you really must tell us. What do you think of young Verney?”

“If you wish to know what I think,” interposed Miss Charity, “I think he’s the very nicest man I ever spoke to. He’s so nice about religion. Wasn’t he, Aggie?”

Here the Captain exploded.

“Religion! egad — do you really mean to tell me — ha, ha, ha! Upon my soul, that’s the richest thing! — now, really!”

“My goodness! How frightfully wicked you are,” exclaimed Miss Charity.

“True bill, egad! upon my soul, I’m afraid — ha, ha, ha!”

“Now, Captain Shrapnell, you shall not walk with us, if you swear,” said Miss Charity.

“Swear! I didn’t swear, did I? Very sorry if I did, upon my — I give you my word,” said the Captain, politely.

“Yes, you did; and it’s extremely wicked,” said Miss Charity.

“Well, I won’t; I swear to you I won’t,” vowed the Captain, a little inconsistently; “but now about Master Cleve Verney, Miss Agnes. I said I would not let you off, and I won’t. I give you my honour, you shall say what you think of him, or, by Jove! — I conclude you can’t trust yourself on the subject, ha, ha, ha! Hey?”

“You are mad, Captain Shrapnell,” interposed Miss Charity, with weight.

“I can’t say, really, I’ve formed any particular opinion. I think he is rather agreeable,” answered Miss Agnes, under thi............