Part 27 (1/2)

_Lady Eth._ I must request, Miss Etheridge, that you will be more select in your company. A steward's daughter is not the proper companion for the house of Etheridge.

_Agnes._ Indeed, mamma, the society of Lucy Bargrove will never be prejudicial to me. I wish you knew what an una.s.suming girl she is, and yet so clever and well informed. Besides, mamma, have we not been playmates since we have been children? It would be cruel to break with her now, even if we felt so inclined. I could not do it.

_Lady Eth._ There, Admiral, you feel the effect of your want of prudence, of your ridiculous good-nature. An unequal friends.h.i.+p insisted upon, and a mother treated with disrespect.

_Agnes._ Indeed, mamma, I had no such intention. I only pleaded my own cause. If my father and you insist upon it, much as I regret it, it will be my duty to obey you.

_Lady Eth._ Miss Etheridge, we insist upon it.

_Adm._ Nay, Lady Etheridge, I do not,--that is exactly--(_Lady Etheridge looks astonished and bounces out of the room._) My dearest Agnes, I must defend poor Lucy against the prejudices of your mother, if I can; but I'm afraid,--very much afraid. Your mother is an excellent woman, but her over anxiety for your welfare----

_Agnes._ There was no occasion to remind me of my mother's kindness.

When a daughter looks into a parent's heart through the medium of her duty, she should see there no error, and believe no wrong.

_Adm._ That's a good girl. Now let us take a turn in the garden before dinner.

_Agnes._ Shall I ask mamma to accompany us?

_Adm._ No, no, my love, she's busy, depend upon it. [_Exeunt ambo._

_Scene IV._

_The Hall of an old-fas.h.i.+oned farming house._

_Old Bar._ (_outside._) Don't take the saddle off her, boy, I'll be out again in ten minutes.

(_Enter Bargrove._) Poof--this is, indeed, fine weather for the harvest.

We can't cut fast enough--and such crops! (_Seats himself._) My dear, where are you?

_Mrs Bar._ (_outside._) I'm coming. [_Enters._

_Bar._ Is dinner ready? No time, my dear, to wait. We are carrying at North Breck and Fifteen Acre. Good three miles off; the people will have dined before I'm back.

_Mrs Bar._ Lord bless you, Bargrove! don't fuss--can't they go on without you?

_Bar._ Yes, my dear, they can; but the question is, if they will. This fine weather mustn't be lost.

_Mrs Bar._ Nor your dinner either. It will be ready in five minutes.

_Bar._ Well, well,--where's Lucy?

_Mrs Bar._ Upstairs, with Miss Agnes. She's a sweet young lady.

_Bar._ Yes, and so mild, and so good-tempered.

_Mrs Bar._ That sweet temper of hers don't come from her mother, but from me.

_Bar._ From you?