"You will pardon the question I am about to ask, Miss Penson," said Heathcote, catching a few words of the conversation between Philippa and her admirer; "but for the first time in my life I have been endeavoring to perpetrate poetry, and have had the presumption to send my humble attempt to this house, taking advantage of an occasion when even the most inexperienced rhymster may anticipate merciful criticism. May I hope that my offering has not offended?" Janet felt for a moment unable to reply, but her good sense suggested to her that none but beauties are privileged to be coquettish and tormenting; therefore she promptly replied-- "It has not offended." "Dear Miss Penson," exclaimed Heathcote, fixing on her his dark, sparkling eyes, full of pleasure and gratitude, "how kind and amiable it is of you thus speedily to relieve my anxiety; but we shall soon be interrupted. I see that the piano has just been opened: one word more, and pardon me if it seems abrupt. I have hitherto visited occasionally at this house; will it be considered intrusive if my visits become more frequent?" "I am sure," said Janet, again exerting herself to speak calmly and distinctly, "that your visits here will always be welcome to my guardian--to Philippa;" and after a moment's pause she added, "and to myself." Heathcote had only time to thank her, by another of those brief, bright glances, so precious in her eyes, when she was summoned to the piano to play the accompaniment to a new ballad, delightfully warbled by Philippa, and she was gratified to observe that Heathcote followed her, and kept his post by the instrument during the greater part of the evening. Happy was the little party of lovers during the next fortnight. Captain Warrington and Heathcote were constantly at Mr. Chetwode's house, constantly accompanying Philippa and Janet in walks, drives, and visits to morning exhibitions. No young persons ever enjoyed their own way more than the wards of Mr. Chetwode. He had a decided aversion to the idea of a _dame de compagnie_ in the house; consequently, although the wife of one of his friends always chaperoned Philippa and Janet in society, their mornings were entirely at their own disposal. Mr. Chetwode spent the greater part of every day comfortably ensconced in his luxurious easy-chair at the club, wielding a paper-knife in one hand, and holding a new review, magazine, or pamphlet, in the other; and if he thought at all about his wards, he concluded them to be occupied in netting purses, watering geraniums, petting canaries, or reading "The Queens of England."