which he had first betrayed and
then affected to ridicule, exercised its depressing influence over his
better sense. He was unreasonable enough to feel doubtful of Francine,
simply because she was a stranger.

"Miss de Sor is a new friend of yours," he said. "Do you like her?"

It was not an easy question to answer--without entering into particulars
which Emily's delicacy of feeling warned her to avoid. "I must know a
little more of Miss de Sor," she said, "before I can decide."

Alban's misgivings were naturally encouraged by this evasive reply. He
began to regret having left the cottage, on the previous day, when he
had heard that Emily was engaged. He might have sent in his card,
and might have been admitted. It was an opportunity lost of observing
Francine. On the morning of her first day at school, when they had
accidentally met at the summer house, she had left a disagreeable
impression on his mind. Ought he to allow his opinion to be influenced
by this circumstance? or ought he to follow Emily's prudent example, and
suspend judgment until he knew a little more of Francine?

"Is any day fixed for your return to London?" he asked.

"Not yet," she said; "I hardly know how long my visit will be."

"In little more than a fortnight," he continued, "I shall return to my
classes--they will be dreary classes, without you. Miss de Sor goes back
to the school with Miss Ladd, I suppose?"

Emily was at a loss to account for the depression in his looks and
tones, while he was making these unimportant inquiries. She tried to
rouse him by speaking lightly in reply.

"Miss de Sor returns in quite a new character; she is to be a guest
instead of a pupil. Do you wish to be better acquainted with her?"

"Yes," he said grave ly, "now I know that she is a friend of yours." He
returned to his place near her. "A pleasant visit makes the days pass
quickly," he resumed. "You may remain at Brighton longer than you
anticipate; and we may not meet again for some time to come. If anything
happens--"

"Do you mean anything serious?" she asked.

"No, no! I only mean--if I can be of any service. In that case, will you
write to me?"

"You know I will!"

She looked at him anxiously. He had completely failed to hide from
her the uneasy state of his mind: a man less capable of concealment of
feeling never lived. "You are anxious, and out of spirits," she said
gently. "Is it my fault?"

"Your fault? oh, don't think that! I have my d