"Upon my word," said my sister Charlotte, with an arch laugh, "I suspect
Harry's in love again."

"And if were in love, Charlotte," said I, somewhat nettled, and
recollecting Glencoe's enthusiastic eulogy of the passion, "if I were in
love, is that a matter of jest and laughter? Is the tenderest and most
fervid affection that can animate the human breast to be made a matter of
cold-hearted ridicule?"

My sister colored. "Certainly not, brother!--nor did I mean to make it so,
or to say anything that should wound your feelings. Had I really suspected
you had formed some genuine attachment, it would have been sacred in my
eyes; but--but," said she, smiling, as if at some whimsical recollection,
"I thought that you--you might be indulging in another little freak of the
imagination."

"Ill wager any money," cried my father, "he has fallen in love again with
some old lady at a window!"

"Oh, no!" cried my dear sister Sophy, with the most gracious warmth; "she
is young and beautiful."

"From what I understand," said Glencoe, rousing himself, "she must be
lovely in mind as in person."

I found my friends were getting me into a fine scrape. I began to perspire
at every pore, and felt my ears tingle.

"Well, but," cried my father, "who is she?--what is she? Let us hear