to illustrate our meaning. It is quite
clear he is desperately in love."

"With whom, pray?" Asked May. And her face became crimson as she spoke.

"With a young lady who cannot speak of him without blushing," said Mrs.
Morris, calmly; and continued: "At first sight it does seem a very
cruel thing to inspire such a man with a hopeless passion, yet, on
second thought, we see what a stream of sunlight this early memory will
throw over the whole bleak landscape of his after-life. You are his
torture now, but you will be his benefactor in many a dark hour of the
dreary pilgrimage before him. There will be touches of tenderness in
that ode he 'll send to the magazine; there will be little spots of
sweet melancholy in that village story; men will never know whence they
found their way into the curate's heart. How little aware are they
that there's a corner there for old memories, embalmed amongst holier
thoughts,--a withered rose-leaf between the pages of a prayer-book!"

May again sighed, and with a tremor in the cadence that was almost a
sob.

"So that," resumed the other, in a more flippant voice, "you can forgive
yourself for your present cruelty, by thinking of all the benefits you
are to bestow hereafter, and all this without robbing your rightful lord
of one affection, one solitary emotion, he has just claim to. And that,
my sweet May, is more than you can do with your worldly wealth, for,
against every check you send your banker, the cashier's book will retain
the record."

"You only confuse me with all this," said May, pettishly. "I came for
counsel."

"And I have given you more,--I have given you consolation. I wish any
one would be as generous with _me!_"

"Oh, you are not angry with me!" cried the girl, earnestly.

"Angry! no, dearest, a passing moment of selfish regret is not anger,
but it is of _you_, not of _me_, I would speak; tell me everything. Has
Charles spoken to you?"

"Not a word. It may be indifference, or it may be that, in a sense of
security about the future, he does not care to trouble himself."

"Nay, scarcely that," said the other, thoughtfully.

"Whatever the cause, you will own it is not very flattering to _me_,"
said she, flushing deeply.

"And Mr. Layton,--is _he_ possessed of the same calm philosophy? Has
he the same trustful reliance on destiny?" said Mrs. Morris, who,
apparently examining the lace border of her handkerchief, yet stole a
passing glance at the other's face.