inish their game. Thank you for
coming to me. My aunt will, I hope, hear nothing of it. Good evening.'

Calling an elder girl, she gave some directions; and Mr. Wingfield
watched her walking down the avenue with a light-footed but decided and
characteristic tread, expressing in every step, 'Where I am going, there
I will go, and nothing shall stop me.'

'Nonsense!' she said to herself; 'Arthur cannot be so lost to the sense
of everything becoming. Such pain cannot be in store for me! Anything
else I could bear; but this must not, cannot, shall not be. Arthur is
all I have; I cannot spare him; and to see him shipwrecked on a low-bred
designing creature would be too much misery. Impossible--so clear-headed
as he is, so fastidious about women! And yet this letter spoke
decidedly. People talk of love! and Arthur is so easy, he would let
himself be drawn on rather than make a disturbance. He might be ensnared
with his eyes open, because he disliked the trouble of breaking loose,
and so would not think of the consequence. Nothing could save him
so well as some one going to him. He can read a letter or not as he
chooses. Oh, if papa were at home--oh, if Mr. Wingfield were but Percy
Fotheringham--he who fears no man, and can manage any one! Oh! if I
could go myself; he heeds me when he heeds no one else. Shall I go? Why
not? It would save him; it would be the only effectual way. Let me see.
I would take Simmonds and Pauline. But then I must explain to my
aunt. Stuff! there are real interests at stake! Suppose this is
exaggeration--why, then, I should be ridiculous, and Arthur would never
forget it. Besides, I believe I cannot get there in one day--certainly
not return the same. I must give way to conventionalities, and be a
helpless young lady.'

She reached the house, and quickly dashed off her letter:--

'My Dear Arthur,--I hope and trust this letter may be quite uncalled
for, though I feel it my duty to write it. I used to have some influence
with you, and I should think that anything that reminded you of home
would make you pause.

'Report has of course outrun the truth. It is impossible you should be
on the brink of marriage without letting us know--as much so, I should
trust, as your seriously contemplating an engagement with one beneath
your notice. I dare say you find it very pleasant to amuse yourself; but
consider, before you allow yourself to form an attachment--I will not
say before becoming a victim to sordi