men like Harry
Jardine, but it is not in such that early self-indulgence and lamentable
weakness may be feared.

Harry Jardine was the style of man fitted to command the admiration of
Joanna Crawfurd. Contemplative girls love men of experience. Staid girls
love men with a dash--a dash of bravery, self-reliance, or even of
recklessness. Harry Jardine's gladness to be at home; his interest in
everything and everybody; the pleasant tone in which he referred to his
mother; the genuine fun of which he gave a glimpse; the ring of his
laugh, were all set store upon by Joanna with a sober satisfaction.

Harry had not been so agreeable, or felt the world so pleasant, two
hours before. It was impossible to escape memories or to hide wincing;
but he had said to himself that these associations ought to have been
worn threadbare by familiarity, or to have been approached gradually,
and he could not conquer his awkwardness or crush his susceptibility.
But youth is pliable and versatile, and Harry Jardine was determined to
evince no dislike, and make no marked distinction. Very soon the Miss
Crawfurds and their cousin blended with the other young ladies in his
view,--nay, he discovered that he had come across a cousin of theirs
settled abroad, and was qualified to afford them information of his
prospects and pursuits handsomely.

So far Joanna's penalty had been moderate, until, towards the close of
the evening, when most of the young people had gone into the library to
get some refreshments, she found herself left in her corner almost
alone, with Mr. Jardine talking to Mrs. Maxwell within a few yards of
her. This was the occurrence which Joanna had dreaded. "By the pricking
of her thumbs" she was aware of a wicked destiny approaching her. Mr.
Jardine in his conversation glanced towards her, then looked away, and
beat his foot on the carpet, and a twitch passed over the muscles of his
face, and his smile, though he still affected a smile, had lost all its
glow. Joanna dared not look any longer. Mrs. Maxwell was certainly
speaking of her. Perhaps in her rash inconsiderate way she had
volunteered information.

Perhaps Harry Jardine had himself made inquiry--the pale girl who kept
in the background, with the little scar--was it--on her temple? Joanna
quivered under the process, and the witness beneath the light brown hair
throbbed painfully. She was glad when Mr. Jardine walked away quickly;
but the next moment he came back and turne