It was a sunny afternoon in June, just thirteen months after Mr.Bassett's wedding--Lady Bassett was with her husband in his study, settling invitations for a ball, and writing them--when the church-bells struck up a merry peal.

They both left off, and looked at each other eloquently.

Lady Bassett went out, but soon returned, looking pale and wild.
_"Yes!"_ said she, with forced calmness.

Then, suddenly losing her self-command, she broke out, pointing through the window at Highmore, _"He_ has got a fine boy--to take our place here.

Kill me, Charles! Send me to heaven to pray for you, and take another wife that will love you less but be like other wives.