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"Let us say it backwards," says captain Marryatt, which is considered such a wonderful departure for him, such a stroke of wit on his part, that everyone laughs in the most encouraging fashion. "You'll be a reigning wit yet, if you don't look out," says Mrs. Chichester. "As you are a reigning toast," responds he, quite fired by the late ovation. "Oh, goodness!" says Mrs.
Lieber, who was principally troubled by a camp meeting at which he assisted, Miss Martineau, who retailed too much of the gossip that had been decanted through the tunnel of her trumpet, and Captain Marryatt, who was simply clownish, afford fair examples of the style which dominated until about 1836 or 1837. Then works of a better order began to appear. America received scientific attention.
Charlotte Bronte's writing seemed to have been traced with a cambric needle, and Thackeray's writing, while marvelously neat and precise, was so small that the best of eyes were needed to read it. Likewise the writing of Captain Marryatt was so microscopic that when he was interrupted in his labors he was obliged to mark the place where he left off by sticking a pin in the paper.
"Call that fair, if you like!" says he, in high disgust. But she is gone. The house is quiet again. Gower and Marryatt are still lingering in the smoking-room, but for the rest, they have bidden each other "Good-night" and gone to their rooms. Tita is sitting before her glass having her hair brushed, when a somewhat loud knock comes to her door. The maid opens it, and Sir Maurice walks in.
And now the fun grows fast and furious. Hescott, who, I regret to say, must have disarranged that handkerchief once for all, is making great running with the lady guests. As Mr. Gower remarks, it is perfectly wonderful how well he and Marryatt and the other men can elude him. There is no difficulty at all about it! Whereas Mrs. Chichester is in danger of her life any moment, and Mrs.
Chichester. "Captain Marryatt, were you with me when she called that day in town? No? Oh! well," with a little glance meant for him alone a glance that restores him at once to good humour, and his position as her slave once more "you ought to have been." "What did she say, then?" asks Minnie Hescott. "Nothing to signify, really.
"I have my own views about them," says Miss Gower, with a sniff. "But I admit they have rights of their own." "Fancy allowing a man to have rights nowadays!" cries Mrs. Chichester, uplifting her long arms as if in amazement. "Good heavens! What a wife you would have made! Rights?" She looks up suddenly at Captain Marryatt, who is, as usual, hanging over the back of her chair.
Indeed, beyond one brief glance at his wife, he has taken no notice of her. Margaret's eyes go back to Tita. Everyone is offering her a seat here or there, and she is shaking her head in refusal. Evidently Mrs. Bethune's remark has gone by her, like the wind unheard; it had not been understood. "Come and sit here, and have a hot cup of coffee," says Captain Marryatt. "No, thank you.
Miss Gower, however, is which balances the situation. "I don't believe I ever felt so sorry for leaving any place," says Mrs. She casts a languishing glance at Marryatt as she says this. He is not invited to the next country house to which she is bound. He returns her glance fourfold, upon which she instantly dives behind Mrs.
"Perhaps she admires it the diamonds at all events." "'My love in his attire doth show his wit!" quotes Marryatt, who likes to pose as a man of letters. "'When the age is in the wit is out," quotes Gower in his turn, who can never resist the longing to take the wind out of somebody's sails; "and, after all, The Everlasting is not a youth! No doubt his intellect is on the wane."
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