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"I was ill and couldn't go, and my cousin went with her," says Dora. "Far be it from me to object to any innocent amusement, much less to the music of Mr. Handel, dear Mr. Claypool," says mamma. "Music refines the soul, elevates the understanding, is heard in our churches, and 'tis well known was practised by King David.
Not only Dora listened but the beauteous Flora bowed her fair head and heard him with attention. Why, what was young Tom Claypool, their brother baronet's son in Norfolk with his great boots, his great voice, and his heirdom to a poor five thousand acres, compared to this young American prince and charming stranger?
Claypool, our county neighbour, had just brought us the intelligence, and it even now formed the subject of my conversation with my daughters." "Yes," cries out a little voice, "and do you know, Harry, father and mother said you was a a imp " "Silence, my child! Screwby, convey Master Warrington to his own apartment! These, Mr. Warrington or, I suppose I should say nephew George are your cousins."
Tom Claypool with some of his country friends; they heard the music; they drank tea in a box; Harry was master of ceremonies, and introduced his brother to the curiosities of the place; and George was even more excited than his brother had been on his first introduction to this palace of delight.
"What?" asks Tom Claypool, firing as red as his waistcoat. " Hem! Kisses my wife's hand, and is treated in the fondest manner, by George! What do you think of this fellow, who talks of his property and his principality, by Jupiter! turning out to be a beggarly SECOND SON! A beggar, my Lady Warrington, by " "Sir Miles Warrington, no violence of language before these dear ones!
"I shouldn't be at all surprised that the elder turns out to be as poor as the young one," says Dora, tossing her head. "He! he! Did you see that cousin George had one of cousin Harry's suits of clothes on the brown and gold that one he wore when he went with you to the oratorio, Flora?" "Did he take Flora to an oratorio?" asks Mr. Claypool, fiercely.
"The elder seems to know a power of Latin, though, and speaks the French and the German too. I heard him with the Hanover Envoy, at the Baroness's rout," says Mr. Claypool. "The French he jabbered quite easy: and when he was at a loss for the High Dutch, he and the Envoy began in Latin, and talked away till all the room stared."
The artless one has pegged his top at Dora's toes, and laughs with the glee of merry boyhood at his sister's discomfiture. But what is this? Who comes here? Why does Sir Miles return to the drawing-room, and why does Tom Claypool, who strides after the Baronet, wear a countenance so disturbed? "Here's a pretty business, my Lady Warrington!" cries Sir Miles.
I envious of Flora, indeed, because she has found favour in the sight of poor Tom Claypool! I should as soon be proud of captivating a ploughboy!" "Pray, miss, was your Mr. Harry, of Virginia, much wiser than Tom Claypool? You would have had him for the asking!" exclaims Flora. "And so would you, miss, and have dropped Tom Claypool into the sea!" cries Dora. "I wouldn't." "You would."
Tom Claypool of Norfolk saw 'em both at Ranelagh; and Jack Morris came out of White's, where he heard the story from Harry Warrington's own lips. Curse him, I'm glad of it!" roars Will, slapping the table. "What do you think of your Fortunate Youth, your Virginian, whom your lordship made so much of, turning out to be a second son?" "The elder brother not dead?" says my lord.
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