My aunt was preparing to make some objections to this plan, when Mr. Middleton came into the room, and by assuming that it was thus settled, and declaring that any further discussion of it was unnecessary, put a stop to the conversation. Edward took me into the next room, and asked me if I had any objection to the arrangement. As I saw by his face that he would be exceedingly annoyed if I did object, I expressed my perfect readiness to agree to it. He seemed altogether so much pleased and excited, that my self-tormenting disposition immediately suggested to me, that politics interested him more than anything else, and that no one day since our engagement had he appeared so satisfied and so cheerful. I was also foolish enough to be annoyed at his seeming so thoroughly reconciled to Henry; I felt a kind of vague irritation at Henry's accompanying him on this journey, and the more his spirits rose, the more mine fell. As I did not seem to take much interest in his electioneering concerns he dropped the subject, and began to talk of Alice, whose beauty and manners he warmly praised. "You do not think that Henry appreciates her, do you?" "Who can tell," I exclaimed, "when a woman is appreciated? Once secure in the affection he has inspired, a man's lore often waxes wondrous cool." As I said this I had what the French call "des larmes dans la voix." Edward fixed his eyes on the ground and knit his brows, but after a moment looked up into my face and said, "How well Lovell knows you!" I coloured, and asked him what he meant. "I heard him say one day that it was difficult to tell if you felt what you acted, or acted what you felt." This severe sarcasm cut me to the heart, and to have Henry quoted against me by Edward, was more than I could bear. Pride and anger struggled for a moment with grief in my breast, but were soon conquered by it. I must have looked intensely unhappy, for Edward took my hand in his, and drawing me kindly to him, said, "My dearest love, I did not mean to vex you." "If you had you would have succeeded," I answered with bitterness. "No, Edward," I continued, passionately; "from you I can bear everything. Reprove me as often and as severely as you please; treat me harshly when I deserve it; I shall never be weary of _your_ reproof, nor complain of _your_ severity; but that you should allow Henry to influence you against me--that you should quote his sarcasms and call them truth, even when their object is to make you doubt the reality of my feelings, the sincerity of my affection--"