What?"

The young girl laughed.

"Because they love themselves so much," she said. "Gallant Adonises!
they think themselves handsome, nay, more lovely than all the maidens
in the world!"

Mowbray caught the infectious mirth of the young girl, and smiled.
Poor Mowbray! where were all his mighty resolutions--his fair
promises--his determination to remain an iceberg in presence of this
haughty young girl? He was falling more deeply in love with her every
moment.

"You are very severe upon the fine gentlemen," he said; "I think your
picture is the exception."

"No, no! the rule! the rule!" she went on laughing. "Just look at them
yonder. See how they smile and simper, and press their hands to their
hearts, and daintily arrange their drop curls! I would as soon be
loved by a lay-figure!"

And Philippa burst into a fit of merry laughter.

"Look!" she said; "see that ridiculous young gentleman near the door,
with the velvet breast-knot--think of a velvet breast-knot! See how he
daintily helps himself to snuff from a box with a picture of Madame
Pompadour, or some celebrated lady, upon the lid; and see his jewelled
hand, his simpering face, his languid air, his affected drawl as he
murmurs, 'Ah--yes--madam--very--warm--but a charming--spectacle.' On
my word! I would always provide myself with a bottle of _sal volatile_
when such gentlemen came to see me!"

Mowbray found himself growing positively happy. Not only were his
spirits raised by the young girl's merry and good-humored
conversation, but every word which she uttered made his heart thrill
more and more. All her discourse, all her satire upon the butterflies
of the ball-room, had originated in the discussion of what character
was proper for a lover. She scouted the idea of the love of one of
these idlers attracting for a moment the regard of an intelligent
woman: then was it not a just conclusion, that she looked for
character, and dignity, and activity? She pointed to his own opposite,
in grotesque colors, and laughed at her picture: then did she not find
something to like in himself? Could she ever love him?

And Mowbray's cheek flushed--his strong frame was agitated.

"The amusing part of all this is," said Philippa, laughing, "that
these gentlemen think their charms irresistible. Now, there is my
cousin Charles--you know him, I believe."

"Charles----?"

"Charles Hoffland."

"Charles, your cousin!" cried Mowbray; "it is impossible!"

"Why, what is