Mary was soon arrayed; and, perceiving that the parlour had been vacated by Mrs. Deborah Moreton, she followed her into the Lyceum, which she understood to be the general sitting room. At the top of the apartment, on a large chair, sat Mrs. Deborah Moreton; her head was erect, her unbending brows exhibited a picture of stern severity; her hands were folded before her; and, neither turning to the right or to the left, there was a magisterial dignity and hauteur about her, which was calculated to intimidate, and to awe all those around her; but, perfectly easy and free in manners, as in morals, none of the company appeared to regard her, except Copy, who had placed himself as directly opposite to Mrs. Deborah, as he had been to Mary Cuthbert on the preceding evening, only that, instead of advancing gradually towards the old lady, as he had done towards the young one, he made a retrograde motion, as he perceived the curve on the forehead become stronger, and the lines more deeply marked over the rest of the features; and from time to time, he muttered to himself – ‘yes, stern, and unrelenting; these are the characteristic marks of her countenance; something of a Popish hat on her head, the cross, and the rosary. – The centre picture for the other two: Gardiner at the right hand – Bonner on the left – Queen Mary in the middle, the best I ever saw; not a smile, not the smallest relaxation of muscle – three quarters length – she will do, yes, yes, she will do!’ and he began a long and uninterrupted whistle, as the rest of the company, engaged by their own amusements and pursuits, looked not at the ideal painter.

Miss Moreton was recumbent on an Ottoman; near her stood Walwyn, while the humble Chevalier, in all the flow of sentiment, had sunk on the carpet at her feet.