“Oh, very well, ma’am,” answered Henry, carelessly. “As for Julia,” he added, “of course, I don’t like to see her too prodigal of her feelings to any one.” “Henry!” said Mrs. Montgomery, “I now tell you, once more, what I have already often told you: If you persist in this indelicate display of your very misplaced, and, you must be aware, hopeless attachment to your cousin, I shall consider it my duty (and it must be a painful one) to forbid you my house, till the return of her father places her under his protection.” “I don’t see why my case should be so hopeless as you say: Julia will soon be her own mistress; and if she chooses to have me, I’d be a cursed fool not to secure such a good hit! Indeed, I tell you fairly, that as soon as she is of age, if she consents to run away with me, I shall have no scruples on the subject. She has enough for us both, and has every right to please herself!” “I have questioned Julia, and she assures me that she neither authorises your addresses, nor returns your preference.” “Till she is her own mistress, and can end disputes at once, she has no fancy, I dare say, for being lectured every day of her life by her wise friends! However, I say nothing; time will tell!” Here the conference ended. CHAPTER VIII. “Faults past through love, flavour of its sweetness.” About a week after Edmund’s hasty visit to Lodore, the postman’s knock was heard, and no servant appearing with letters, inquiries were made. A footman replied, that Mr. St. Aubin had been passing through the hall, and had taken the letters from the man. Henry was applied to; but disappointed the hopes of all by saying, there was but one, which was for himself. “It’s from Edmund,” he added carelessly. “And what does he say?” inquired every one, at the same moment. “An order to join, I suppose?” added Frances. “No,” he replied. “You are very laconic, Henry!” observed Mrs. Montgomery. “Why, really, ma’am—I—don’t know that it is quite fair to talk of young men’s love concerns. However, my amiable cousins, I believe, know all about it; whether they have thought fit to inform you, ma’am, or not. Indeed, you saw something of it yourself. It was a foolish affair from the first: I never thought it would answer.” “What was a foolish affair?” asked Frances. “Oh all that fudge about your nonsuch fancying that Lady Susan Morven was to accept him, forsooth, because some people have blown him up with conceit and impertinence, by choosing to make fools of themselves about him. But it seems she is married to the Marquis of H⸺, and Edmund, of course, is in great despair about it—that’s all!” “I cannot believe that he ever loved Lady Susan!” said Frances. “I have only his own word, and his own hand-writing for it,” replied Henry. “Will you shew me the letter?” asked Frances.