and as her visit has never been returned, she imagines it has not been made known."

Ellen felt dreadfully guilty. Every day she had carefully written old Mrs. Dalrymple's name at the head of a list of visits, and every day had found or made some fresh excuse for deferring the evil hour. She now hastily expressed her contrition, and her intention of going the next morning; and again turning to Elizabeth, found amusement in listening to her remarks on the various individuals about thein. But though entertaining, Elizabeth's conversation was always a doubtful enjoyment to Ellen: it never seemed to express her own feelings and opinions, but to be directed against those of the person she was conversing with.

She would show an interest in Ellen's communications, which, in spite of former resolutions, would lead her on to talk, unreservedly, of all that most interested her; and it was only when left dispirited and comfortless, that Ellen would discover the latent sting which lurked in Elizabeth's replies.

This evening her spirits were not high, and she felt unequal to the covert warfare in which she soon discovered she was engaged; and it was with a feeling of relief that she found herself addressed by lord Raymond. "I have come to you for intelligence, Lady Ellen. A new beauty who has made her appearance here to-night; so very new, that nobody can tell her name; and so very beautiful, that every body is asking for it. Now can you enlighten me?"

"If she cannot, Edward probably can," interposed Elizabeth: "I did not know, Ellen, that the Howards were acquaintances of yours."

Ellen was not obliged to hear. "You can only mean Miss Rivers. I know no more of her than she is a niece of the Howards, who asked leave to bring her. When they were announced, I hurried to receive them, fearing that she might feel awkward at having come uninvited; but she received my common-place assurances of pleasure at seeing her, as nothing more than her due. I never saw a manner more self-possessed. There was something almost contemptuous in the calmness with which she stood, while that pretty little Mrs. Howard overwhelmed me with apologies and flatteries. She is certainly very beautiful, but she looks alarming."

"In other words, you dislike what you have seen of her, and do not wish to see more. When any body says to me, I am afraid of you,' I only look upon it as a civil manner of insinuating, I dislike your society.' There are not many

who frighten me, but it would be unpleasant to me to live much with those who do. Yet there is one who certainly improves upon me, and whose acquaintance I feel anxious to cultivate: but Frederick Percival's manner is not encouraging."

"I have known him so very long, so very intimately," answered Ellen, slightly coloring, "I hardly know what effect it may have upon a stranger. I believe it may appear reserved, for I have heard others make the same complaint. But during the many years his family have been abroad, our house has almost been his home. I should as soon expect to find reserve in Edward, as in him. Lately, indeed, we have seen less of him; he is too much immersed in politics to have time to bestow on his friends."

"And to-night," said Lord Raymond, "he has made a decided step in a career which must prove a brilliant one. I was in the house when he spoke. I never heard a more convincing torrent of eloquence. You can hardly fancy the enthusiasm with which it was received. May I venture to add, that were mine the happiness of knowing you so long, and so intimately," he repeated her words with a slight emphasis-" upon such an occasion I should have dared hope to be more warmly congratulated."

"We understand each other," Ellen answered, coldly; and raising her eyes, she met those of Percival, fixed upon her with an expression of sadness, from which she positively shrank. Almost involuntarily she pronounced his name; and in an instant he was at her side.

Lord Raymond, though he quitted her, still lingered near. He saw the deepening interest of their conversation; the grave earnestness with which Percival addressed her; the quivering of her beautiful lip, as in broken sentences she seemed to answer him. He saw her emotion grow stronger still-he almost fancied that tears were falling from beneath the long dark lashes, which now drooped, till they rested on her cheek. Percival rose, and stood before her.

"She loves him," thought Lord Raymond-" and now he is entreating her to be calm; to conceal the emotion he has caused. She loves him and he may be worthy of her; but, oh God! can his love be any thing like mine?"

Lord Raymond had lingered till he felt he had no right to linger longer. The rooms were almost deserted. He was recalled to recollection and activity, by Eliza Beaumont's request that he would just be so very good as to ask if their

carriage was there. "I told you that you might trust to me to find somebody to get us away," she said triumphantly to her sisters, as Lord Raymond descended the stair-case. "Good night, Mrs. Howard; we are only waiting till Lord Raymond tells us that the carriage is ready. Yes, Richard, by all means accept Mrs. Irvine's offer of a lift home; Lord Raymond will take care of us."

"Is that your carriage they are calling, Lady Elizabeth, or is it Lord Raymond telling us ours is ready?"

"My dears," interrupted Mrs. Beaumont, "have you got your shawls? That civil, red-haired, out of livery man, has been to tell me that our carriage has drawn off, but that we may still walk to it; here, take my arm, Eliza; stick close behind us, Maria and Anne-there; we shall manage very well."

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"I am afraid Lord Raymond will be hunting for us," said Eliza, as they drove off, at the very moment it would have appeared, upon a reasonable calculation, Lord Raymond had fairly arrived at his own home.

Percival too, was gone; and Ellen and her brother were left together. "It is not very late, Ellen," he said, drawing her towards him; "I will stay a little while, and let us talk these people over.'

"Not to-night-dearest Edward!-not to-night; come early to-morrow; I am so tired now-so very, very tired!"—and she rested her head upon his shoulder.

"Then, God bless you, my darling Ellen! but what is the matter? why, your cheek is wet with tears! what is the matter?" he repeated, as he caught the sounds of her suppressed sobs. "Speak to me, Ellen; I dare say that Elizabeth has been saying something particularly disagreeable; tell me what is vexing you?"

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Nothing, Edward, nothing!" she answered, half smiling through her tears; "I am only very tired, and quite worn out with being pleasant. Come and ride with me to-morrow; and now, good night!"

CHAPTER II.

"There's nothing like a modicum of civil malice, between dear, kind, good-natured friends."

"And little things, seem great to little men."

"It will be but kind, my dears, for some of us to go and see the Harrisons to-day. As they were not asked themselves, they will like to hear how the Mordaunt party went off last night."

This was Mrs. Beaumont's first address to her two eldest daughters, when they made their appearance the next morning in the drawing-room; where the drained tea-pot, the silent urn, and the littered table-cloth, gave tacit, but feeling evidence, that the orthodox hour of breakfast was past.

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"How wretchedly uncomfortable !" said Maria, advancing towards the bell; "I do wish that Harding could any-how be taught, that when we do not appear so soon as the others, we must have something to eat when we do come."

"Stay, young ladies, I will have no ringing for any thing more," Mr. Beaumont said, looking up from his Morning Post. "There was a very good family breakfast at ten, a very good family hour, and those who cannot be down for it, must take what they can get."

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"There, Miss Maria, that's all you have got by giving yourself airs about breakfast," said her youngest brother, who was at home for the holidays.

"How disagreeable boys are!" was Maria's answer, aside to Eliza, as she seated herself at the comfortless looking table; "and Charles, I tell you once for all, that I will not have the hot crumb from your rolls put in my plate every morningthere is no wit in it."

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Yes, there is though, because it makes you so cross," said Charles, as he ran out of the room.

"Well, girls, have you got nothing to tell? no news? no scandal?" said their father, again looking up from his paper. "Is Frederick Percival still assiduous about the fair Ellen? and how will the courteous old lord make up his mind to that?"

"The courteous old lord strikes me as having no mind left

to make up," answered Maria, sharply. "I declare he positively twaddles. We sate close by him half the evening, and he never seemed to find out that we were in the room; and when at last I touched his elbow and asked him how he was, he answered, quite well, and delighted to see his old neighbor, Mrs. Harrison, and her daughters."

"Poor Maria! so he took you for Kate Harrison," said her brother Richard, with a loud laugh, as he left the room to commence his daily irksome walk to Lincoln's Inn.

"I do think that loud laugh of Richard the most odious thing," said Maria to her mother. "I wish, mamma, you would tell him of it."

"Well, but Maria," said Eliza, "I am surprised to hear that Lord Mordaunt did not know you-he was so very civil to me quite put himself out of the way to step forward, and ask me how I did. As to Mr. Percival and Lady Ellen, I do not think much of that-they took scarcely any notice of each other-he seemed more inclined to talk to me than to her."

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"Now, Eliza," interrupted Maria, "nobody but you could have fancied that. When we came away, I never saw a more decided looking business. But they seemed very unhappy. I suspect that Lord Mordaunt will not give his consent." "Yet he might do worse," said her father. They say old Percival's affairs are coming round, and that he will soon return to England and reside on his own property. But even if his ruin should be irretrievable, Frederick must eventually inherit from that rich curmudgeon of an uncle, who has stood aloof during all their distresses. And, in the meantime, he is one who will make himself a station in the world. speech last night will bring him into notice. I think it over liberal, and wrong-headed. Like all very young men, he is bit by the political economists; but that is the popular line, and will tell for his advancement."

His

These last words were pronounced in a manner which was meant to be eminently sarcastic; for Mr. Beaumont prided himself upon being an old Tory of the old school. All the Beaumonts always had been Tories, and he flattered himself that he was a thorough Beaumont: so he was a member of the Conservative Club; set himself against every thing in the shape of public improvement; was called a sterling capital old fellow, by "all the Beaumonts," who rallied round him; and was illiberal and narrowminded to his heart's content. At this moment the door was thrown open, and Mr. John