spirits as when with him; at any rate, poor Ethelind's delicacy took
the alarm, and she resolved to crush her own growing attachment in the
bud, and hide her feelings in reserve, and so great was her
self-command, that her love for Mr. Barclay, was unsuspected by all
save her mother.

As Beatrice and Ethelind were returning one evening from a long walk,
and being very tired, they sat down on a bank facing the Towy to rest
themselves, and watch the setting sun sink behind the undulating
mountains that almost surrounded them. They were, for some minutes, so
absorbed in the scene before them, that neither spoke; at last
Beatrice exclaimed:--

"What a pity it is, Ethelind, that you and Mr. Barclay never took it
into your heads to fall in love with each other; you would make such a
capital clergyman's wife."

"Beatrice!" said Ethelind, "why talk thus; do you mean to say that you
have been insensible to his attachment to you?"

"I do not mean to say that," replied she, "but I can assure you, that
if there is such a feeling, it is only on his side."

"And yet, you have not only received, but met his attentions with such
evident pleasure, and given him such decided encouragement."

"Now, Ethy, how could I resist a flirtation with such an interesting
character?"

"Oh, Beatrice, did you never think of the pain you might inflict by