through men, but one o' that sort--he's like somethin' out of nature.
Then I say--hopin' be excused--what's to do is for to treat him like a
woman, and not for to let him have his own way--which he don't know
himself, and is why nobody else do. Let that sweet young couple come
together, and be wholesome in spite of him, I say; and then give him time
to come round, just like a woman; and round he'll come, and give 'em his
blessin', and we shall know we've made him comfortable. He's angry
because matrimony have come between him and his son, and he, woman-like,
he's wantin' to treat what is as if it isn't. But matrimony's a holier
than him. It began long long before him, and it's be hoped will endoor
longs the time after, if the world's not coming to rack--wishin' him no
harm."

Now Mrs. Berry only put Lady Blandish's thoughts in bad English. The
lady took upon herself seriously to advise Richard to send for his wife.
He wrote, bidding her come. Lucy, however, had wits, and inexperienced
wits are as a little knowledge. In pursuance of her sage plan to make
the family feel her worth, and to conquer the members of it one by one,
she had got up a correspondence with Adrian, whom it tickled. Adrian
constantly assured her all was going well: time would heal the wound if
both the offenders had the fortitude to be patient: he fancied he saw
signs of the baronet's relenting: they must do nothing to arrest those
favourable symptoms. Indeed the wise youth was languidly seeking to
produce them. He wrote, and felt, as Lucy's benefactor. So Lucy replied
to her husband a cheerful rigmarole he could make nothing of, save that
she was happy in hope, and still had fears. Then Mrs. Berry trained her
fist to indite a letter to her bride. Her bride answered it by saying
she trusted to time. "You poor marter" Mrs. Berry wrote back, "I know
what your sufferin's be. They is the only kind a wife should never hide
from her husband. He thinks all sorts of things if she can abide being