med to feel that she was causing her
lover pain; and then she would turn away from Hoffland and gladden
poor Denis with one of her brilliant smiles, and with some indifferent
word, nothing in itself, but full of meaning from its tone. Then
Hoffland would laugh quietly to himself, and touching the young girl's
arm, call her attention, to some beauty in the waning sunset, some
quiet grace of the landscape; and Denis would sink again into gloom,
and look at Hoffland's handsome face and sigh.

Mowbray was reading in the little sitting-room, and from time to time
interchanged words with the party through the window. Perhaps
_studying_ would be the proper word; for it was a profound work upon
politics which Ernest Mowbray, with his vigorous and acute intellect,
was running through--grasping its strong points, and throwing aside
its fallacies. He needed occupation of mind; in study alone could he
escape from the crowding thoughts which steeped his brow in its
habitual shadow of melancholy. He had lost a great hope, as he had
told Hoffland; and a man does not see the woman whom he loves
devotedly pass from him for ever without a pang. He may be able to
conceal his suffering, but thenceforth he cannot be gay; human nature
can only control the heart to a certain point; we may be calm, but the
sunshine is all gone.

Thus the hours passed, with merry laughter from Hoffland and Lucy, and
very forced smiles on the part of Denis. Mowbray observed his silence,
and closing the volume he was reading, came out and joined the
talkers.

"What now?" he said, with his calm courtesy. "Ah, you are speaking of
the ball, Lucy?"

"Yes, Ernest; and you know you promised to take me."

"Did you?" asked Hoffland; "I am afraid this is only a ruse on cousin
Lucy's part to get rid of me."

"Are you not ashamed, sir, to charge me with untruth?" said Lucy,
nearly bursting into laughter.

"Untruth!" cried Hoffland; "did any body ever! Why, 'tis the commonest
thing in the world with your charming sex, Miss Lucy, to indulge in
these little ruses. There must be a real and a conventional code of
morals; and I hope you don't pretend to say, that if a lady sends word
that she is gone out when a visitor calls, she is guilty of
deception?"

"I think she is," said Lucy.

"Extraordinary doctrine!" cried Hoffland; "and so Ernest has really
engaged to go with you?"

"Yes, sir; it was my excuse to Mr. Denis, who very kindly offered to
be my escort."

An