In short, this personage, being young, audacious, witty, and animated by the vicinity of the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, soon deprived the anniversary of that solemn character Mr. Raby desired to give it.  Yet his volubility, his gayety, and his chaff were combined with a certain gentlemanlike tact and dexterity; and he made Raby laugh in spite of himself, and often made the ladies smile.  But Henry Little sat opposite, and wondered at them all, and his sad heart became very bitter.

When they joined the ladies in the drawing-room, Henry made an effort to speak to Jael Dence.  He was most anxious to know whether she had heard from Grace Carden.  But Jael did not meet him very promptly, and while he was faltering out his inquiries, up came Richard Raby and resumed his attentions to her—­attentions that very soon took the form of downright love-making.  In fact he stayed an hour after his carriage was announced, and being a young man of great resolution, and accustomed to please himself, he fell over head and ears in love with Miss Dence, and showed it then and thereafter.

It did not disturb her composure.  She had often been made love to, and could parry as well as Dick could fence.

She behaved with admirable good sense; treated it all as a polite jest, but not a disagreeable one.

Mrs. Little lost patience with them both.  She drew Henry aside, and asked him why he allowed Mr. Richard Raby to monopolize her.

“How can I help it?” said Henry.  “He is in love with her; and no wonder:  see how beautiful she is, and her skin like white satin.  She is ever so much bigger than I thought.  But her heart is bigger than all.  Who’d think she had ever condescended to grind saws with me?”

“Who indeed?  And with those superb arms!”

“Why, that is it, mother; they are up to anything; it was one of those superb arms she flung round a blackguard’s neck for me, and threw him like a sack, or I should not be here.  Poor girl!  Do you think that chatterbox would make her happy?”

“Heaven forbid!  He is not worthy of her.  No man is worthy of her, except the one I mean her to have, and that is yourself.”

“Me, mother! are you mad?”

“No; you are mad, if you reject her.  Where can you hope to find her equal?  In what does she fail?  In face? why it is comeliness, goodness, and modesty personified.  In person? why she is the only perfect figure I ever saw.  Such an arm, hand, foot, neck, and bust I never saw all in the same woman.  Is it sense? why she is wise beyond her years, and beyond her sex.  Think of her great self-denial; she always loved you, yet aided you, and advised you to get that mad young thing you preferred to her—­men are so blind in choosing women!  Then think of her saving your life:  and then how nearly she lost her own, through her love for you.  Oh, Henry, if you cling to a married woman, and still turn away from that angelic creature there, and disappoint your poor mother again, whose life has been one long disappointment, I shall begin to fear you were born without a heart.”