e d'Albret, and all my
objections to seeing her again were removed; why so? because I was
independent. It was my dependence that made me so proud and
unforgiving. In fact, I was on better terms with the world, now that I
had somewhat raised myself in it. I was one day talking over my life
with Mr Selwyn, and after pointing out how I had been taken in by my
ignorance and confidence, how much wiser I had become already from
experience, and my hopes that I should one day cease to be a dupe, he
replied, "My dear Miss Valerie, do not say so. To have been a dupe is
to have lived; we are dupes when we are full of the hope and warmth of
youth. I am an old man; my profession has given me great knowledge of
the world; knowledge of the world has made me cautious and indifferent,
but this has not added to my happiness, although it may have saved my
pocket. No, no; when we arrive at that point, when we warm before no
affection, doubting its truth; when we have gained this age-bought
experience, which has left our hearts as dry as the remainder biscuits
after a long voyage--there is no happiness in this, Valerie. Better to
be deceived, and trust again. I almost wish that I could now be the
dupe of a woman or a false friend, for I should then feel as if I were
young again."

"But, sir," replied I, "your conduct is at variance with your language;
why else such kindness shown to me, a perfect stranger, and one without
claims upon you?"

"You over-rate my little attention, my dear Valerie; but that proves
that you have a grateful heart. I speak of myself as when in contact
with the world. You forget that I have domestic ties to which the heart
is ever fresh. Were it not for home and the natural affections, we men
would be brutes indeed. The heart, when in conflict with the world, may
be compared to a plant scorched by the heat of the sun; but, in the
shade of domestic repose, it again recovers its freshness for the time."

I have stated, that through the recommendation and influence of a
Mademoiselle Adele Chabot, I taught music at an establishment for young
ladies at Kensington. It was what is called a finishing-school. The
terms were very high, and the young ladies did not always sit down to
boiled mutton; but, from what I learnt from Adele, in other points it
was not better than schools in general; but it had a reputation, and
that was sufficient.

One day, I was informed by Mrs Bradshaw, the proprietress of the
est