Has she come?' 'No, Mamma, not yet.' 'I wish it were well over. The thought of it worries and excites me. A cushion for my back, Bella.' And poor, peevish Mrs. Coventry sank into an easy chair with a nervous sigh and the air of a martyr, while her pretty daughter hovered about her with affectionate solicitude. 'Who are they talking of, Lucia?' asked the languid young man lounging on a couch near his cousin, who bent over her tapestry work with a happy smile on her usually haughty face. 'The new