“Why? have you a great many correspondents? I do so like correspondents, don’t you? and to get letters all crossed, and written under the seal, and every where; is it not delightful? I have so many friends I doat upon, that there is not a day I don’t write two or three long letters, and tell them every thing I feel and think; and then it passes away the morning so well; don’t it, Mr. Moore?” “Why, I really cannot boast of as many confidential friends, or as much capacity of heart as you seem to be blessed with,” said he; “and, moreover, I have nothing to confide; so that I fear a very small note would contain all my feelings and thoughts.” “Dear, how shocking! and how odd! I have so many charming friends, to whom I have so much to say, that I could write to them for ever; and then, when we have nothing particular to tell, we suppose ourselves people in a novel, and so carry on a story, you know, under feigned names: mine is Celestina.” “It must be very interesting; and may I ask,” continued Moore, “who is the hero worthy of such a heroine?” “Oh, that I won’t tell,” said Miss Danvers, slyly—”that is a secret; but, if you choose to guess, I will tell you when you are wrong. So far I will go; but I won’t allow of any questions about tall and short, and fat and thin, and that sort of thing.” Here all laughed; and Selina, quite satisfied that it was at her wit, glanced round the table with an eye of triumph, till, encountering Fitzhenry’s grave, preoccupied countenance, which, plainly showed that he had not joined in the applause, she said: “Ah, Lord Fitzhenry is still thinking of his brooch, and of that blush of Lady Fitzhenry’s, which seems to stick in his throat.” “I am sure you are very good to take so much interest in what concerns us,” replied Fitzhenry, dryly. “Oh no, it is not good at all; for it is my greatest amusement to find out every body’s little secrets, and I am determined I will get at the bottom of this somehow.” After a pause, she addressed Emmeline. “By the bye, now I recollect, you were very busy poking about all Lord Fitzhenry’s things in his room, yesterday morning; but what that may have to do with all this, I can’t just now make out.” Fitzhenry looked up astonished, and his eyes were fixed on Emmeline’s crimson cheek; but, though he looked at her attentively for a few minutes, he said nothing; and, by this time, the frowns from Mrs. Danvers had become so repeated, and so decided, that they at last succeeded in checking the exuberant loquacity of the lively Selina. An awkward silence ensued; every one seemed disconcerted, and Fitzhenry, for the first time, to Emmeline’s observation, appeared totally out of humour. He soon got up from the breakfast-table, and left the room.