a game of whist was one of the most innocent ants of her life.

But Hemstead was too well pleased with Lottie's arrangement to
grieve deeply over what, to his conscience, was wrong, and soon
forgot uncle, aunt, and cousin, and even the unlucky lap-dog, whose
dismal howl had so discomfited him a moment before. Just such a
luminary as Lottie Marsden had never appeared above his horizon, and
her orbit seemed so eccentric that as yet he could not calculate
it; but this element of uncertainty made observation all the
more interesting. The wide old hall, without the embarrassment of
observant eyes, was just the place to learn something more definite
of one who thus far had dazzled and puzzled, while she gained his
strong interest. True, Addie and Mr. Harcourt were walking before
them, but seemed so absorbed in each other as not to notice them.
He felt a curious thrill when a little hand lighted, like a
snow-flake, upon his arm, but soon increased its pressure with a
sort of cousinly confidence. He looked inquiringly into the face
turned up to him as they passed under the lamp, and thought, "In
its guileless beauty it reminds me of the clear mountain lakes that
I have seen in this region."

His figure was true, but not as he understood it; for Lottie's face,
like the lake, would then reflect anything that happened upon the
margin of her thoughts, while her heart remained hidden. He thought he
saw herself, but in truth only false and vanishing images. Still,
like the mirroring water, her skilful feigning could make the
images seem very real. Hemstead, with his boundless faith in woman,
believed all he saw, and hoped still more.