“Never fear, mamma; she is too bashful to develop the few attractions which she possesses. He dotes on music and beauty and graceful manners; is rather particular in his ideas of elegance in dress, and has many of those _finikin_ fancies which cousin Grace could never satisfy. Indeed I mean to make use of her to forward my own views.” “Well, well, Rosa, I dare say you can manage your own affairs; but, at the same time, I would advise you to avoid Captain Sabretash.” “I suppose you think he has never forgiven me for my share in the affair of his sister; but I can assure you he has quite forgotten it. He is one of those butterflies of fashion who have no sting.” “You are mistaken, Rosa; he has as much skill as yourself in acting a part, and I tell you that he never has and never will forgive you.” “Why, then, does he haunt me so perpetually in society? Why does he seek to be my partner in the dance, and my companion on all occasions?” “I cannot answer that question, Rosa; but I have watched him very closely, and I believe he means you no good.” “I am not afraid of him, mamma; he is a charming beau, and his gay wit is a great relief to me after listening to the grave and somewhat heavy wisdom of the gallant Colonel.” Possessed of great beauty, a fine figure, a graceful address, and a host of superficial accomplishments, Rosa Crafts had always managed to be the belle of every circle in which she mingled. How this _éclat_ was obtained may be readily divined, for where there is no real dignity of character, no sincerity of heart, no firmness of principle, all tastes may be studied and adopted. But Rosa’s love of admiration had carried her beyond the limits of prudence. She pleased so _generally_ that she never became attractive _individually_, and she had attained her twenty-fifth year without receiving any eligible offer of marriage. The straitened circumstances in which her widowed mother had been left, rendered a wealthy alliance necessary to the support of the style of living which Rosa had insisted upon adopting, and Mrs. Crafts began to lose patience when she found her money diminishing, her debts increasing, and her daughter verging towards an _uncertain age_, without any prospect of bringing their schemes to a successful issue. It was just at this juncture that Colonel Middleton came within the sphere of her attractions, and was marked as a victim destined to fulfil her matrimonial speculations. The Colonel was a man whom almost any woman might have admired, even if he had not possessed the talisman of wealth. In his youth he had been eminently handsome, and time had dealt leniently with him, for the weight of forty years had fallen so lightly upon him that it would have puzzled the wisest physiognomist to count their number on his brow. His cheek wore the rich bloom of health, his well-formed mouth still displayed the glittering pearls which had been a distinguishing beauty in his boyhood, the thick wavy masses of his dark