a person so different from himself. Pity such a good-dispositioned youth
should fall into the hands of such an atrocious character!

"You've met Mr Marvale before?" I said to Sibylla, as I took her into
the dining-room.

"Oh, yes--at my cousin Jane's, in Russell Square--a wonderful man--a
perfect genius!"

"I hope to Heaven he's no worse," said I, "though that's bad enough."

"Bad enough! Oh, I doat on men of genius! Did you never hear of him? He
is quite a celebrity. Cousin Jane always has him at her literary
parties, for she does not know Bulwer or Dickens; and he's so handsome,
too--such a wild expression."

"Wild enough to get him two months of the tread-mill, if your father
lays hands on him."

But when I saw the glance of profound admiration darted by Sibylla at
the interesting stranger, I felt sure she would only like him the more
if he were found out to be a murderer in reality; for there is a certain
school of young ladies who do not stand upon trifles in the way of their
flirtations, but extract fresh reasons for glorifying the object of
their preference, from facts which the unwary lay before them by way of
warnings. If he is a spendthrift, it is so noble to be free and
generous; if he is a gambler, he is of such a fine unsuspecting
disposition, he is only the dupe of the designing. In short, whatever
you say to put them on their guard, only makes them expose themselves
the more; and, therefore, I made no further attempt to open the eyes of