de
a very terrible picture."

"A good conception," Royston said; "well, perhaps it would not be a
pleasant song to sing, but better, I should think, than some of those
dreadful sentimental ones. They are not much worse than the Strephon and
the Chloe class, in which our ancestors delighted; still, they are
indefensible. If our Lauras find Petrarchs now, they are usually very
beardless ones, and the green morocco cover, with its golden lock,
covers their indiscretions. Those who write love ditties for the piano
_must_ celebrate a shadow who can't be critical. Imagine any man
insulting a real woman of average intellect with 'Will you love me then
as now!'"

"Yes," she assented, "they are too absurd as a rule. They make our
cheeks burn, as if we were performing some very ridiculous part in low
comedy; but they do not warm one's heart, like 'Annie Laurie.'"

"Ah! it's curious how that always suggests itself as the standard to
compare others with: not fair, though, for it makes most of them sound
so feeble and effeminate. Douglas of Finland wrote it, you know, in the
campaign which finished him. Long before that the charming Annie had
given her promise true to Craigdarroch; and she had to keep it, _tant
bien que mal_, for it was pronounced in the Tron Church, instead of on
the braes of Maxwellton. I wonder if she inscribed those verses in her
scrap-book? I dare say she did, and sang them to her grandchildren, in a
cracked treble."

"I am so sorry you told me that," Cecil exclaimed; "my romance was quite
a different one, and not nearly so sad. I always fancied the man who
wrote those lines must have ended so happily! One would despise her
thoroughly if she could ever have forgiven herself, or forgotten him."

Her eyes brightened, and her cheeks flushed as she spoke. The momentary
excitement made her look so handsome that Keene's glance could not
withhold admiration; but there was no sympathy in it, any more than in
his cold, quiet tones.

"No, don't despise her," he said. "She could scarcely be expected to
wait for a corporal in the Scottish regiment. When the cavaliers sailed
from home they knew they were leaving every thing but honor behind them;
of course, their mistresses went with the other luxuries. They had not
many of these in the brigade, if we can believe history. Fortunately for
us (or we should have missed the song) Finland never knew of the 'fresh
fere' who dried the bright blue eyes so soon. He would not