. . .r breakfast that we are about to take our share of the original curse; which feeling inclines man naturally to linger over the tea and coffee, and saunter to the window, or look into the fire, or play with the knife and fork for a few minutes more than is positively required. What between one oral occupation or another, then, the party at Mrs. Falkland's breakfast-table contrived to pass an hour very pleasantly. Colonel Manners, when all had risen, bestowed five minutes more upon the long window--while Isadore and her mother, De Vaux and Marian, held separate councils on the future proceedings of the day--and then retired to his own room, to write a note of business to some of his people in London. He had not long been gone when the fat and venerable servant, whom we have called Peter, entered the room, bearing a note, which, with much respectful ceremony, he delivered over to the hands of Miss De Vaux. Marian turned a little red and a little pale; and, had a jealous husb. . . Read More