She is a graceful lady; better, as I hope, in heart, but not equal in person to her sister.

“You have a charming boy, I am told, Madam; but no wonder from such a pair!”

“O dear heart,” thought I, “i’n’t it so!” Your ladyship may guess what I thought farther.

“Will your ladyship see him now?” said Mr. B.

He did not look down; no, not one bit!—­though the Countess played with her fan, and looked at him, and at me, and then down by turns, a little consciously:  while I wrapped up myself in my innocence, my first flutters being over, and thought I was superior, by reason of that, even to a Countess.

With all her heart, she said.

I rang.  “Polly, bid nurse bring my Billy down.”—­My, said I, with an emphasis.

I met the nurse at the stairs’ foot, and brought in my dear baby in my arms:  “Such a child, and such a mamma!” said the Viscountess.

“Will you give Master to my arms, one moment, Madam?” said the Countess.

“Yes,” thought I, “much rather than my dear naughty gentleman should any other.”

I yielded, it to her:  I thought she would have stifled it with her warm kisses.  “Sweet boy I charming creature,” and pressed it to her too lovely bosom, with such emotion, looking on the child, and on Mr. B., that I liked it not by any means.

“Go, you naughty lady,” thought I:  But I durst not say so.  “And go, naughty man, too!” thought I:  “for you seem to look too much gratified in your pride, by her fondness for your boy.  I wish I did not love you so well as I do!” But neither, your ladyship may believe, did I say this.

Mr. B. looked at me, but with a bravery, I thought, too like what I had been witness to, in some former scenes, in as bad a cause.  “But,” thought I, “God delivered me then; I will confide in him.  He will now, I doubt not, restore thy heart to my prayers; untainted, I hope, for thy own dear sake as well as mine.”

The Viscountess took the child from her sister, and kissed him with great pleasure.  She is a married lady.  Would to God, the Countess was so too! for Mr. B. never corresponded, as I told your ladyship once, with married ladies:  so I was not afraid of her love to my Billy.  “But let me,” said she, “have the pleasure of restoring Master to his charming mamma.  I thought,” added she, “I never saw a lovelier sight in my life, than when in his mamma’s arms.”

“Why, I can’t say,” said the Countess, “but Master and his mamma do credit to one another.  Dear Madam, let us have the pleasure of seeing him still on your lap, while he is so good.”

I wondered the dear baby was so quiet; though, indeed, he is generally so:  but he might surely, if but by sympathy, have complained for his poor mamma, though she durst not for herself.

How apt one is to engage every thing in one’s distress, when it is deep! and one wonders too, that things animate and inanimate look with the same face, when we are greatly moved by any extraordinary and interesting event.