s looking more
beautiful than ever, is, very kind! she says nothing to be sure, but she
must see how--that is to say--she must know that--that I--I mean that
Clarence is very attentive to me, and that I blush and look exceedingly
silly whenever he is; and therefore I suppose that whenever Clarence
thinks fit to ask me, I shall not be under the necessity of getting
up at six o'clock, and travelling to Gretna Green, through that odious
North Road, up the Highgate Hill, and over Finchley Common.

"But when will he ask you?" My dearest Eleanor, that is more than I
can say. To tell you the truth, there is something about Linden which I
cannot thoroughly understand. They say he is nephew and heir to the Mr.
Talbot whom you may have heard Papa talk of; but if so, why the hints,
the insinuations, of not being what he seems, which Clarence perpetually
throws out, and which only excite my interest without gratifying my
curiosity? 'It is not,' he has said, more than once, 'as an obscure
adventurer that I will claim your love;' and if I venture, which is very
seldom (for I am a little afraid of him), to question his meaning, he
either sinks into utter silence, for which, if I had loved according to
book, and not so naturally, I should be very angry with him, or twists
his words into another signification, such as that he would not claim me
till he had become something higher and nobler than he is now. Alas,
my dear Eleanor, it takes a long time to make an ambassador out of an
attache.

See now if you reproached me justly with scanty correspondences. If I
write a line more, I must begin a new sheet, and that will be beyond the
power of a frank,--a thing which would, I know, break the heart of your
dear, good, generous, but a little too prudent aunt, and irrevocably
ruin me in her esteem. So God bless you, dearest Eleanor, and believe me
most affectionately yours, FLORA ARDENNE.

LETTER II. FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

Pray, dearest Eleanor, does that good aunt of yours--now don't frown,
I am not going to speak disrespectfully of her--ever take a liking to
young gentlemen whom you detest, and insist upon the fallacy of your
opinion and the unerring rectitude of hers? If so, you can pity and
comprehend my grief. Mamma has formed quite an attachment to a very
disagreeable person! He is Lord Borodaile, the eldest, and I believe,
the only son of Lord Ulswater. Perhaps you may have met him abroad, for
he has been a great trave