Do let us compound the point for once--keep your old habit, since you are so fond of making a sight of yourself, and only throw the shawl round your shoulders--it has been exceedingly admired, and every woman in the house longs to see it closer--they can hardly believe it genuine." "Do be a man, Mowbray," answered his sister; "meddle with your horse-sheets, and leave shawls alone." "Do you be a woman, Clara, and think a little on them, when custom and decency render it necessary .-- Nay, is it possible!--Will you not stir--not oblige me in such a trifle as this ?" "I would indeed if I could," said Clara; "but since you must know the truth--do not be angry--I have not the shawl.

I have given it away--given it up, perhaps I should say, to the rightful owner .-- She has promised me something or other in exchange for it, however.

I have given it to Lady Penelope." "Yes," answered Mowbray, "some of the work of her own fair hands, I suppose, or a couple of her ladyship's drawings, made up into fire-screens .-- On my word--on my soul, this is too bad!--It is using me too ill, Clara--far too ill.

If the thing had been of no value, my giving it to you should have fixed some upon it .-- Good-even to you; we will do as well as we can without you." "Nay, but, my dear John--stay but a moment," said Clara, taking his arm as he sullenly turned towards the door; "there are but two of us on the earth--do not let us quarrel about a trumpery shawl." "Trumpery!" said Mowbray; "It cost fifty guineas, by G--, which I can but ill spare--trumpery!" "O, never think of the cost," said Clara; "it was your gift, and that should, I own, have been enough to have made me keep to my death's day the poorest rag of it.

But really Lady Penelope looked so very miserable, and twisted her poor face into so many odd expressions of anger and chagrin, that I resigned it to her, and agreed to say she had lent it to me for the performance.