r there
was something irresistible in the privilege of obtaining a bright look
and smile from one whose demeanour was in general so distant; and
when she once began to talk, eager, decided, brilliant, original, and
bestowing exclusive and flattering attention, for the time, on the
favoured individual, no marvel that he was bewitched, and when, the next
night, she was haughty and regardless, he only watched the more ardently
for a renewal of her smiles. The general homage was no pleasure to her;
she took it as her due, and could not have borne to be without it. She
had rather been at home with her books, or preparing lessons to send to
her school at Brogden; but in company she could not bear not to reign
supreme, and put forth every power to maintain her place, though in her
grand, careless, indifferent manner, and when it was over, hating and
despising her very success.

Arthur had thawed after his second visit to Ventnor; he had brought away
too much satisfaction and good humour to be pervious to her moody looks;
and his freedom and ease had a corresponding effect upon her. They
became more like their usual selves towards each other; and when he
yielded, on being again exhorted to stay for the soiree, she deemed it a
loosening of the trammels in which he was held. He became available when
she wanted him; and avoiding all mention of his family, they were very
comfortable until Theodora was inspired with a desire to go to a last
appearance of Mademoiselle Rachel, unfortunately on the very evening
when Violet had especially begged him to be with her.

If he would have said it was his wedding-day, there could have been no
debate; but he was subject to a sort of schoolboy reserve, where he was
conscious or ashamed. And there were unpleasant reminiscences connected
with that day--that unacknowledged sense of having been entrapped--that
impossibility of forgetting his sister's expostulation--that disgust
at being conspicuous--that longing for an excuse for flying into a
passion--that universal hatred of everything belonging to the Mosses.
He could not give a sentimental reason, and rather than let it be
conjectured, he adduced every pretext but the true one; professed to
hate plays, especially tragedies, and scolded his sister for setting her
heart on a French Jewess when there were plenty of English Christians.

'If you would only give me your true reason, I should be satisfied,'
said she at last.

'I love my love with a