riend spoke, but too low to be heard.

"It is so provoking," continued Inez; "I never can remember names, and his
was something too absurd; but never mind, I shall make him a grandee of
Portugal. Well, but come along, I long to present him to you."

Here a gentle struggle seemed to ensue; for I heard the senhora coaxingly
entreat her, while her companion steadily resisted.

"I know very well you think I shall be so silly, and perhaps wrong; eh, is
it not so? but you are quite mistaken. You'll be surprised at my cold and
dignified manner. I shall draw myself proudly up, thus, and curtsying
deeply, say, 'Monsieur, j'ai l'honneur de vous saluer.'"

A laugh twice as mirthful as before interrupted her account of herself,
while I could hear the tones of her friend evidently in expostulation.

[Illustration: O'MALLEY FOLLOWING THE CUSTOM OF HIS COUNTRY.]

"Well, then, to be sure, you are provoking, but you really promise to
follow me. Be it so; then give me that moss-rose. How you have fluttered
me; now for it!"

So saying, I heard her foot upon the gravel, and the next instant upon the
marble step of the door. There is something in expectation that sets the
heart beating, and mine throbbed against my side. I waited, however, till
she entered, before lifting my head, and then springing suddenly up, with
one bound clasped her in my arms, and pressing my lips upon her roseate
cheek, said,--

"_Mar charmante amie!_" To disengage herself from me, and to spring
suddenly back was her first effort; to burst into an immoderate fit of
laughing, her second; her cheek was, however, covered with a deep blush,
and I already repented that my malice had gone so far.

"Pardon, Mademoiselle," said I, in affected innocence, "if I have so far
forgotten myself as to assume a habit of my own country to a stranger."

A half-angry toss of the head was her only reply, and turning towards the
garden, she called to her friend:--

"Come here, dearest, and instruct my ignorance upon your national customs;
but first let me present to you,--never know his name,--the Chevalier de
----What is it?"

The glass door opened as she spoke; a tall and graceful figure entered, and
turning suddenly round, showed me the features of Lucy Dashwood. We both
stood opposite each other, each mute with amazement. _My_ feelings let me
not attempt to convey; shame, for the first moment stronger than aught
else, sent the blood rushing to my face and temples, and the