"Just one apricot more, Tom," said Anna Maria, coaxingly.
"By Jove, I'll throw them out to the dogs, Anna! You shall not eat such trash."
"Just _one_ more, Tom," continued his lady, advancing her hand towards the basket, and looking half-beseechingly, half-saucily, at him.
"Upon my word, you are enough to drive a man distracted! I declare you are more trouble to me than the kennel!" cried Tom Pynsent, unable to resist her _minauderie_, and again surrendering the basket of apricots to her grasp. "I'm sure I hope this won't happen every time."
"Ha, ha," cried Mrs. Pynsent, "and that's the fear, is it, Master Tommy? Give up the fruit, and let her eat as much as she likes. Do you remember, Bobby, how I gobbled your pines, once upon a time?"
Mr. Pynsent looked up from his newspaper, and shrugged his shoulders. "I remember a good deal, Pen."
Anna Maria now expressed a wish to walk with her sister into the flower-garden. Tom rather demurred at her descending the long flight of steps. Mrs. Pynsent would allow no opposition.
"Come now, Tommy, let the poor thing hobble about, if she wishes it; and, if she drops down, pick her up again. I hate a poor unfortunate woman to be refused any thing. I am sure it's no sinecure to be such a roundabout."
Tom Pynsent was easily persuaded into measures which he endured pain in refusing to his lady. His affectionate heart was only anxious to do right by a creature, whose very footsteps he worshipped; and his watchfulness proceeded from the fear of losing that which was dearer to him than light or life. Anna Maria revelled in the very wantonness of happiness, and she delighted in drawing forth her husband's attentions, by every little inventive art. She loved also to rouse his alarms; and enjoyed, with rapturous delight, the expression of his honest affection.
One morning, as the ladies sat at work, amused by Tom's account of the progress of his kennel, Anna Maria suddenly sank back upon the sofa, and, by her closed eyes, and the work falling from her hands, Mrs. Pynsent did indeed fear some fatal termination to her son's hopes. Tom Pynsent sat rooted to the spot; his clasped hands and trembling lips exhibiting every appalling alarm. Mrs. Pynsent and Christobelle flew to Anna Maria's assistance; but the apparently dying victim opened her eyes, and laughed heartily, exclaiming--