The rose faded from the cheek of Julia in an instant. “He is gifted with extraordinary abilities, mother. A distinguished path is before him.” “Yes—but think of the years of toil that must intervene. The best portion of his life must be devoted to his exacting profession, and when the pulse is fevered with application—the eyes dimmed, and the hair blanched with time, he may be what is called great; but the spirit of life, of love, and hope, will be exhausted in the struggle. From the dim waste of the past, the voice of fame will sound but as a funeral dirge, wailed over the courage and enthusiasm which bore him upward and onward in his course.” “Disappointment must come to all, mother; but in the exciting occupation you describe there is much happiness to be found. The days of all must fall into the ‘sere and yellow leaf,’ but the man of genius can at least look back with pleasure to his toil, and reflect with just pride on the rewards he has won. Ah how superior are such memories to those hoarded by the mere butterflies of fashion, of a petty triumph over some insignificant person whose wealth lifts them into ephemeral notoriety.” “Child—Child! how you are running on! Your cheek is flushed, and your eyes sparkling.—This will never do. I hope this young painter has not made what romantic young ladies call ‘an impression’ on your heart, for in that case my doors must be closed on him.” Julia was calm in a moment. The pupil of the fashionable Madame Lecompte had been assiduously taught the art of controling the outward show of emotion, and young as she was, Julia Selwyn did not shame the lessons of her preceptress. “My dear mother, how can you have such a fancy! Mr. Mervin does not make love to me without I construe his verses into declarations. Do you fear that I shall be so unmaidenly as to give my heart unsought? He knows that a union between us is impossible, but that does not prevent this frail fading beauty from being his inspiration and his muse. A few fleeting years, and some younger and fairer face will claim his homage, while I shall pass down the stream of time only remembered as the _ci-devant_ belle. When his fame is at its zenith, I shall be forgotten.” “I am glad that you have so much common sense, my dear. When we can speak calmly of being forgotten by an admirer, it is a sure sign that the feelings are not deeply interested in him. You were never intended for the wife of a poor man, and there is one—but I must not betray your father’s plans. He will never force you to accept any one who is disagreeable to you, but there is a person in view who is so suited in age, fortune, and in short, every thing, that we have set our hearts on seeing you his bride. I will not name him, lest the knowledge of our wishes should make you shy. I shall leave him to make his own way, love—no questions—I am silent as death. Good-bye—I must see the new case of millinery opened at Madam ——’s. I will bring you a Parisian hat of the newest style.”