Mrs.
Carew--the old lady, I mean--was at Crompton then; and the young one--though she was no chicken neither--she tried to get her turned out; but she wasn't clever enough, clever as she was, for that job.

Carew loved his mother, as indeed he ought, for she had never denied him any thing since he was born; and so, in that pitched battle between the women, he took his mother's side.

And in the end the old lady took his, and with a vengeance.

I do think that if it had not been for her, young madam would have held on--Why, what's the matter, young gentleman?
That was an oath fit for the mouth of Squire hisself." "It's this cursed toothache," exclaimed Yorke, passionately.

"It has worried me so ever since you began to speak that I should have gone mad if I had not let out at it a bit.