"A pretty thing to make a scene of!" she exclaimed. "Here I come all the way from Boston to make you a visit,--expecting you would do every thing to make me happy, as other folks do, when friends visit them. I propose a quiet, respectable amusement, in my own frank, go-ahead way,--and lo!--my lord frowns, and my lady trembles, and both, occupied in watching each other's emotions, forget they have a guest to entertain, as well as a friend to gratify." "You might wait till I have refused to accompany you, Miss Melville," said Ernest, in a cold, calm voice. "You know me incapable of such rudeness. But I cannot allow even a lady to make such unpardonable allusions to my domestic feelings and conduct. If a man cannot find a sanctuary from insult in his own home, he may well bar his doors against intrusion, and if he has the spirit of a man, he will." "She is only jesting," said I, with a beseeching glance. "You know Madge of old,--she never says any thing she really thinks. How can you be excited by any remarks of hers?" "Cousin Ernest," cried Madge, while the _laughing devil_ in her great black eyes tried to shrink into a hiding-place, "have you not manliness to forgive me, when the rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful?" She held out her hand with an ardent desire for reconciliation. She found she had a spirit to contend with, stronger than she imagined; and for the moment she was subdued. "Not your mother, Margaret," replied Ernest, taking the offered hand with a better grace than I anticipated. "She is gentle and womanly, like my own. I know not whence you derived your wickedness." "It is all original. I claim the sole credit of it. Father and mother both saints. I am a moral tangent, flying off between them. Well, we are friends again; are we not?" "We are at peace," he answered. "You know the conditions, now; and I trust will respect them." "We are all going to Niblo's," she cried eagerly; "that is one condition." "Certainly," he answered; and he could not help smiling at the adroitness with which she changed positions with him. "Will you really like to go, Gabriella?" he asked, turning to me; and his countenance beamed with all its wonted tenderness. "Oh, yes, indeed I will. I am sure it will be delightful." "And have you ever desired to partake of pleasures, without telling me of your wishes?" "I do not know that I can call the transient emotion I have felt, a desire," I answered; blushing that I had ever cherished thoughts which I was unwilling to disclose. "I believe curiosity is natural to youth and inexperience." "Perfect love casteth out fear, Gabriella. You must promise to tell me every wish of your heart; and be assured, if consistent with reason, it shall be gratified."