Mr. James Melville’s party has been a very brilliant one; but it is all over now: the street grows suddenly sombre and silent opposite the darkened windows, and Mrs. James is not in the sweetest of moods: the baby, now that all the other music has ceased, is exercising his vigorous lungs for the amusement of the tired household; his weary mamma is aggravated into very ill-humour, and unfortunately can find no better way of relieving herself, nor any better object, than by railing at Christian’s folly. Mrs. James is sure, if Mr. Forsyth were to think of Mary Melville, they might all of them be both proud and pleased, for he would be an excellent match for her. She could not think what Christian expected for her--some unheard-of prodigy she fancied, that nobody but herself ever dreamt of--thus did the lady murmur on to the great annoyance of James. But we must leave Mrs. James and her indignation to themselves, that we may follow the sisters home. They had little conversation on the way. Christian was silent and absorbed in her own thoughts, and Mary wondered, but did not disturb her; for Mary, too, has thoughts unusual, which she cares not to communicate; and soon, again, we are in the old room, no way changed since we saw it first, three years ago; and Mr. Melville--how shall we excuse ourselves for passing him over so lightly and so long--is here unaltered, as much a fixture in his wide, soft chair, as any piece of furniture in the well-filled room; and Robert, we lost him amid the belles of Mrs. James’s party! but here he is again, distinct, full grown and manly, and still retaining the blithe look of old. Christian alone has yet a disturbed apprehensive expression on her usually calm and placid face, and she wonders, “How can James like such parties? it is so different from his wont.” “Yes,” says Mary innocently, “I wonder that Elizabeth likes them. If there were just two or three intelligent people like Mr. Forsyth, it would be so much better.” Poor Christian!