Mr. Gawffaw and his handmaid were soon heard in an adjoining closet; the one wondering where the screw was, the other vociferating for a knife to cut the bread; while the mistress of this well-regulated mansion sought to divert her guests’ attention from what was passing by entertaining them with complaints of Mr. Gawffaw’s noise and her maid’s insolence till the parties appeared to speak for themselves.

After being refreshed with some very bad wine and old baked bread, the gentlemen set off on a survey of the farm, and the ladies repaired to their toilets.  Mary’s simple dress was quickly adjusted; and upon descending she found her uncle alone in what Mrs. Gawffaw had shown to her as the drawing room.  He guessed her curiosity to know something of her hosts, and therefore briefly informed her that Mrs. Gawffaw was the daughter of a trader in some manufacturing town, who had lived in opulence and died insolvent.  During his life his daughter had eloped with Bob Gawffaw, then a gay lieutenant in a marching regiment, who had been esteemed a very lucky fellow in getting the pretty Miss Croaker, with the prospect of ten thousand pounds.  None thought more highly of her husband’s good fortune than the lady herself; and though her fortune never was realised, she gave herself all the airs of having been the making of his.  At this time Mr. Gawffaw was a reduced lieutenant, living upon a small paternal property, which he pretended to farm; but the habits of a military life, joined to a naturally social disposition, were rather inimical to the pursuits of agriculture, and most of his time was spent in loitering about the village of G-----, where he generally continued either to pick up a guest or procure a dinner.

Mrs. Gawffaw despised her husband; had weak nerves and headaches—­was above managing her house—­read novels—­dyed ribbons—­and altered her gowns according to every pattern she could see or hear of.

Such were Mr. and Mrs. Gawffaw—­one of the many ill-assorted couples in this world—­joined, not matched.  A sensible man would have curbed her folly and peevishness; a good-tempered woman would have made his home comfortable, and rendered him more domestic.

The dinner was such as might have been expected from the previous specimens—­bad of its kind, cold, ill-dressed, and slovenly set down; but Mrs. Gawtfaw seemed satisfied with herself and it.

“This is very fine mutton, Mr. Douglas, and not underdone to most people’s tastes; and this fowl, I have no doubt will eat well, Miss Douglas, though it is not so white as some I have seen.”

“The fowl, my dear, looks as if it had been the great-grandmother of this sheep, ha, ha, ha!”

“For heaven’s sake, Mr. Gawffaw, make less noise, or my head will split in a thousand pieces!” putting her hands to it, as if to hold the frail tenement together.  This was always her refuge when at a loss for a reply.

A very ill-concocted pudding next called forth her approbation.