Zoe folded her arms and gazed after him with undisguised admiration. How well everything he did became him; his firing up--his _brusquerie--_the very movements of his body, all so piquant, charming, and unwomanly! As he vanished from her admiring eyes, she turned, with flaming cheeks, on Miss Maitland, and said, “Well, aunt, you have driven them both out at the window; now, say something pretty to Fanny and me, and drive us out at the door.” Miss Maitland hung her head; she saw she had them all against her but Fanny, and Fanny was a trimmer. She said, sorrowfully, “No, Zoe. I feel how unattractive I have made the room. I have driven away the gods of your idolatry--they are only idols of clay; but that you can't believe. I will banish nobody else, except a cross-grained, but respectable old woman, who is too experienced, and too much soured by it, to please young people when things are going wrong.” With this she took her bed-candle, and retired. Zoe had an inward struggle. As Miss Maitland opened her bedroom door, she called to her: “Aunt! one word. Was it you that ordered the fire in my bedroom?” Now, if she had received the answer she expected, she meant to say, “Then please let me forget everything else you have said or done to-day.” But Miss Maitland stared a little, and said, “Fire in your bedroom? no.” “Oh! Then I have nothing to thank you for this day,” said Zoe, with all the hardness of youth; though, as a general rule, she had not her share of it. The old lady winced visibly, but she made a creditable answer. “Then, my dear, you shall have my prayers this night; and it does not matter much whether you thank me for them or not.” As she disappeared, Zoe flung herself wearily on a couch, and very soon began to cry. Fanny ran to her and nestled close to her, and the two had a rock together, Zoe crying, and Fanny coaxing and comforting. “Ah!” sighed Zoe, “this was the happiest day of my life; and see how it ends. Quarreling; and deceit! the one I hate, the other I despise. No, never again, until I have said my prayers, and am just going to sleep, will I cry 'O giorno felice!' as I did this afternoon, when the rain was pouring on me, but my heart was all in a glow.” These pretty little lamentations of youth were interrupted by Mr. Severne slipping away from his friend, to try and recover lost ground. He was coolly received by Zoe; then he looked dismayed, but affected not to understand; then Zoe pinched Fanny, which meant “I don't choose to put him on his defense; but I am dying to hear if he has anything to say.” Thereupon Fanny obeyed that significant pinch, and said, “Mr. Severne, my cousin is not a woman of the world; she is a country girl, with old-fashioned romantic notions that a man should be above telling fibs. I have known her longer than you, and I see she can't understand your passing off the gambling-table for a sick friend.” “Why, I never did,” said he, as bold as brass. “Mr. Severne!”