“There is mental power enough, if that were all, but there is no soul—no heart; the lofty impulses of pure intellect, the tender affections of feminine nature never yet lighted up those eyes or suffused that marble brow with the blush of genuine feeling.” “Well, as you have known the lady longer than I have, it would be idle to dispute your assertions; indeed, I must confess, when I watch her sweet, unruffled look and manner, I am irresistibly reminded of the old Norse legend of the Snow-Woman—so dazzlingly beautiful, so fatally cold.” “Yet I have seen her under circumstances which would have given you a very different impression of her. Imagine that beautiful woman attired in the simplest manner, all fashionable airs laid aside, and apparently the very creature of romantic feeling; imagine such perfection of loveliness, with eyes of softness and voice all tenderness, apparently yielding up her whole soul to the sweet impressions of nature, amid the loveliest scenery that even our beautiful land can produce; imagine the effect of such beauty seen beneath the soft light of the summer moon, or gazed upon in the silent sanctuary of the forest glades, or mingling its fascinating influence with the lovely sights and sounds which charm the senses in the sunset dell, when the voice of the singing rivulet makes music on its way.” “Upon my word, Mr. Forrester, you are almost a poet; you must be in love.” “Perhaps I am, but Miss Oriel is not the object.” “How could you resist the fascinations you so enthusiastically describe?” “Why, to tell the truth, I narrowly escaped the fate of the silly moth; I came very near singeing my wings in the blaze of her beauty, but I soon discovered that she possessed none but personal attractions. To be sure we had quite a sentimental flirtation, and I remember many very fine sentiments which she uttered, but I early found how thin and poor was the soil in which they had taken root. You know the most luxuriant growth of wild flowers is always to be found in a morass—or perhaps a more graphic illustration of my meaning might be found in the fact that the pestilential Maremma, whose atmosphere is so fatal to life, displays the richest and most gorgeous array of Flora’s favorites. Laura Oriel might be loved for a week or two, but any man with common sense would soon see through her false character. For my own part, I confess that I amused myself with her very pleasantly during the early part of the summer. Indeed, I believe she fancied I was really caught in her snares, and no doubt considers that ‘Cecil Forrester’s $30,000 will do very well to fall back upon in case nothing better offer.’” “Hark!” exclaimed Mrs. Dale, as a slight sound, like a half-suppressed exclamation, struck upon their ears, “I really believe some one has been listening to our conversation.”