“You are very young, my dear Lady Fitzhenry,” continued he; “very new to the world, and your own character is naturally so open, so natural,—that you are perhaps _too_ artless. Some part we almost all must, to a degree, act in this world. We are all sometimes obliged to put a mask on our features and feelings. You know I am a _diplomate_ by profession,” said Pelham, endeavouring to give a light turn to his advice, seeing how much at the moment his _thin skinned_ auditor needed the mask he talked of. “Fitzhenry has been much used to the world—to women of the world,” continued he, with a quick, embarrassed manner. “Perhaps _you_ are too much without art, for him to believe you artless, paradoxical as this may sound. In short, as you are destined to live in a wicked, unfeeling world, I could, I believe, wish you to be a little more wicked and unfeeling yourself.” At this moment, Fitzhenry, with his gun and dogs, appeared at a little distance, and when he saw them, came towards them. It was fortunate, for it would have been difficult for Pelham and Emmeline to have extricated themselves from the conversation in which they were engaged; for, vague as it might have appeared to any third person, those concerned both feared they had gone too far; the one, in what he had said, the other, in what she had listened to. As Fitzhenry approached, Emmeline resolved she would endeavour to exert that degree of self-control which Pelham recommended, and a feeling of offended pride, and of injustice towards her on Fitzhenry’s part, enabled her to succeed. She drew her bonnet over her face, and though her heart beat, and at first her voice trembled, she forced herself to speak on indifferent subjects, as if nothing had past, or rather, as if what _had_ passed, had not had power to wound her; and, taking an opportunity when Pelham was a yard or two behind, she held out her note to Fitzhenry. For a minute, he seemed reluctant to take it; but the next, received it from her hand, and putting it hastily within his waistcoat, immediately began talking with Pelham about the view he was then looking at. When they met at dinner-time, Fitzhenry’s manner to her was as usual; but the party was so large, that they could have little intercourse. In the evening, to avoid any possibility of the waltzing scene of the preceding night, Emmeline immediately took out her work, about which she pretended to be particularly interested, and left the rest of the party to provide for their own amusement. She and Fitzhenry still appeared to be the objects of Mr. Moore’s particular observation, and for that purpose, seating himself by Emmeline, “I hope Lady Fitzhenry,” said he, “you have forgiven me for not proving myself a better advocate for you this morning; but really Fitzhenry’s frowns were so very _eloquent_ and _convincing_, that I could say no more on the subject.”