sympathy, to be covered with the sunlight of his smile at the earnest
honesty of my remarks, especially the last one.

"Ah! Miss Emily, you know not your friend; I am more anxious than ever
to go, and care not if you are sorry."

"I am glad now of my unexpected speech," I replied, "and feel as if I
had really been to the confessional; your mother is so sensitive, I
could not tell her, and I have kept this thought constantly before me,
'He will not stay if he goes, and I am sure he cannot eat rye bread and
butter.'"

"You will see, Miss Emily, how I shall eat it, but we are to be
interrupted; here comes the soulless girl that shocked you so; mother is
with her; excuse me for a moment," and he made his way to a corner of
the parlors, seating himself alone as if in reverie.

"Mademoiselle Emily, my friend, Miss Lear, desires an introduction to
you; be seated, Miss Lear," and Clara took the chair on the other side;
the disappointment of Miss Lear, in not finding Louis, was visible, even
to my unpractised eye, and her tender enquiries of his mother regarding
his health etc., were amusing.

I saw her furtive glances at my plain toilette, and knew she thought me
a lowly wild flower on life's great meadow, a dandelion, unnecessary to
be included in a fashionable nosegay, and while these thoughts were
passing through my mind, Clara left us to ourselves, and, feeling in
duty bound to say something to me, she began:

"Mrs. Desmonde tells me your house is in the country; how sublime the