was called haughty and reserved. Her lip seemed suddenly to snatch back
its sweet smile; her dark eye, before so purely, softly friend-like,
became coldly distant; the tones of her voice were not the same as she
answered,--

"Lord Montfort values me, as it is, far beyond my merits: far," she added
with a different intonation, gravely mournful.

"Forgive me; I have displeased you. I did not mean it. Heaven forbid
that I should presume either to disparage Lord Montfort--or--or to--" he
stopped short, saving the hiatus by a convenient stammer. "Only," he
continued, after a pause, "only forgive me this once. Recollect I was a
little boy when you were a young lady, and I have pelted you with
snowballs, and called you 'Caroline'." Lady Montfort suppressed a sigh,
and gave the young scholar back her gracious smile, but not a smile that
would have permitted him to call her "Caroline" again. She remained,
indeed, a little more distant than usual during the rest of their
interview, which was not much prolonged; for Morley felt annoyed with
himself that he had so indiscreetly offended her, and seized an excuse to
escape. "By the by," said he, "I have a letter from Mr. Carr Vipont,
asking me to give him a sketch for a Gothic bridge to the water yonder.
I will, with your leave, walk down and look at the proposed site. Only
do say that you forgive me."

"Forgive you, cousin George, oh, yes! One word only: it is true you were
a child still when I fancied I was a woman, and you have a right to talk
to me upon all things, except those that relate to me and Lord Montfort;
unless, indeed," she added with a bewitching half laugh, "unless you ever
see cause to scold me, there. Good-by, my cousin, and in turn forgive
me, if I was so petulant. The Caroline you pelted with snowballs was