deceive
an uninitiated spectator; and, though she commanded herself to think
that an attachment between them would be equally natural and desirable,
she could not but look with great satisfaction at the easy unsuspicious
tone of Mrs. Frost's letter, which, after mentioning with much
affection and gratitude all Oliver's attempts to make her happy, in
spite of the many sad changes around, ended by saying that poor Clara
felt the separation from her brother so much, that without dear Louis
she did not know how she would have gone through the festivities. 'You
can guess how he is everything to us all,' said Aunt Kitty, 'and I
brightened up his looks with giving him your last letter to read. I
dare say, Miss Mary, you would like to scold me.'

Aunt Kitty! Aunt Kitty! you dearly loved a little kindly mischief! Let
that be as it might, Mr. Ponsonby thought that Mr. Dynevor's letter had
certainly not had much effect, for Mary was more lively and cheerful
than he had seen her since her first arrival. Mary's cheerfulness was
becoming the more necessary to him, since he was beginning a little to
weary of the childish charms of his young Limenian wife. Rosita had
neither education nor conversation; and when all her pretty ways had
been tried on him in succession, they began to grow tedious. Moreover,
the playful submission which she had brought from her convent was
beginning to turn into wilfulness. Her extravagances in dress were
appalling. She refused to wear the same dresses twice, and cried,
stamped her graceful foot, and pouted when he remonstrated. She
managed to spend every evening in amusement, either at the Opera, or at
evening parties, where her splendid eyes, and scraps of broken English,
made great havoc among young lieutenants and midshipmen visiting Lima.
Mr. Ponsonby was growing tired of these constant gaieties, and
generally remained at home, sending Mary in his stead, as a sort of
guard over her; and Mary, always the same in her white muslin, followed
Rosita through all the salas of Lima--listened to the confidences of
Limenian beauties--talked of England to little naval cadets, more
homesick than they would have chosen to avow--and felt sure of some
pleasure and interest for the evening, when Mr. Ward came to stand by
her chair.

One afternoon, as Mary sat in her window reading, a gay voice
exclaimed, 'Beso las manos a Usted;' and looking up, she saw one of the
prettiest figures imaginable. A full dark