In honour of the host, she wore her best; but this was what became her station, though a little jewelry that rather surpassed what might have been expected in a girl of her rank of life, threw around her person an air of modest elegance.

Mrs.Dutton was a plain, matronly woman--the daughter of a land-steward of a nobleman in the same county--with an air of great mental suffering, from griefs she had never yet exposed to the heartless sympathy of the world.
The baronet was so much in the habit of seeing his humble neighbours, that an intimacy had grown up between them.

Sir Wycherly, who was anything but an acute observer, felt an interest in the melancholy-looking, and almost heart-broken mother, without knowing why; or certainly without suspecting the real character of her habitual sadness; while Mildred's youth and beauty had not failed of producing the customary effect of making a friend of the old bachelor.

He shook hands all round, therefore, with great cordiality; expressing his joy at meeting Mrs.Dutton, and congratulating the daughter on her complete recovery.
"I see Tom has been attentive to his duty," he added, "while I've been detained by a silly fellow about a complaint against a poacher.

My namesake, young Wycherly, has not got back yet, though it is quite two hours past his time; and Mr.Atwood tells me the admiral is a little uneasy about his despatches.