"The inner life of a woman! who, indeed! what a tissue of contradictions it must be! Follow my eye, Miss Ross. Do you see that Peri with cerulean eyes, who is bowing to that gentleman's petition for 'the pleasure of her hand?'" Again, that blanching cheek, as she murmured 'yes.' "It is Lelia Arnold--my sister's bridesmaid. She is the loveliest and gayest girl in the room; you would say that she could not exist, but in this hot-house of flattery and pleasure. Last spring she went on a visit to a sick friend, and for four months we lost sight of her. She resides about six miles from, us; and we were notified of her return by her driving over, one day, attended by a handsome fellow, brother to the 'dear Annie' with whom she had been staying. The truth was out! The parade the family made of her disinterestedness and attachment to the invalid deceived my sister, but not me. She aims at universal fascination; this Lacy has prepossessing manners and appearance, talent,--and it may be, money. Her four months' nursing was a judicious outlay. Helen--Mrs. Read, declares there is no engagement; but I retain my opinion. She is, to-night, _la reine du bal_; on Sunday, she will kneel, in Church, the most angelic vision that ever was vouchsafed to a Catholic's prayers; relate a tale of woe, and the eyes now dancing in mirth, will be dewy with tears; if you are worth winning, she is the tender, love-beseeching girl. I am the only one who quarrels with her. The first time, I was ready to blow my brains out, for my brutality. I think now I shall wait for a more convenient season. She is 'A perfect woman, nobly planned. To warn, to comfort, to command,' --minus a heart!" "Are you well advised of this?" Her voice was very low. "I wish I were as sure of a diadem! and if I had it, I will not be my own security, that she could not coax it from me, in five minutes after it came into my possession. Do not imagine this a digression from the subject. I could tell you of an exile from his native land, driven thence by her falsehood; of one, with high intellect and gigantic energies, paralyzed by his fall from the dizzy height, to which her promises had raised him;--and the snow, this winter night, enwraps another pierced heart, as cold as that which moves her fleecy drapery. What do you say now, Miss Ross? Does the world heap no honors, lavish no applause upon her?" "I do not know how to believe you!" said Ida, putting her hand confusedly to her forehead. "It is no private scandal;--I do not retail such,--the facts are notorious. Yet ask Helen--ask any woman who 'knows society,' and she will certify to the frequency of these occurrences--'crimes' you called them--and the impunity with which they are committed." "It is a crime!" said Ida, wildly;--"an atrocious crime!"