“This old study is not such a disagreeable room after all,” said Ariana, as she was ensconced in the low window-seat, with Arthur Grayson beside her. They were hidden from the view of her brother-in-law by his long overcoat, which no remonstrances could induce him to have hung elsewhere. “Madison has probably discovered that the parlors of Herculaneum were thus ornamented,” she continued, pointing to a pair of boots which were standing in the midst of the apartment. “It is a very pleasant room to me,” he replied, “and I shall long remember the hours spent here.” A glance of joy shot from Ariana’s eyes, but it passed away as she thought, “I dare say both of my brothers-in-law used to say just such agreeable things before they were married.” “If I ever meet with a man who tries to be disagreeable, I shall believe that he is sincere,” she replied, somewhat pettishly. “Why do you suspect me of hypocrisy?” said Arthur, coldly. “I remarked that our pleasant chats had cheated me of many weary hours; you cannot doubt that this is the case. I neither said nor intended more.” Ariana had always applauded sincerity, but this frank avowal did not meet her approbation. The _tête-à-tête_ was becoming awkward, and was luckily interrupted at this juncture by the ring of the postman. A letter was handed to Mr. Grayson; it contained a note which he gave to Miss Huntingdon. She blushed at seeing that it bore the signature of Isabella Grayson, and was penned in a feminine hand, of remarkable delicacy and beauty. The flush on her cheek grew absolutely crimson, as she read the polite invitation to accompany her sister on a visit to Castleton the ensuing month. At that moment Arthur Grayson was wishing that he had not induced his mother to extend her hospitality, as Ariana had of late openly announced her predilections for single blessedness, and had at the same time been so bewitchingly agreeable, that he began to feel that her society was dangerous to his peace. “I fear I must decline this invitation,” said she, after a pause of some minutes. “For what reason?” he asked, while his dark eyes were fixed in close scrutiny upon her varying countenance. Ariana blushed still deeper, and then attempted to smile, but a tear stole to her eye as she replied with great frankness, “We have spent so many delightful hours together that your memory will be very pleasant, but I am afraid that the charm would be broken if I were to see you at home.” This confession almost drew from Arthur one of still deeper import, but a remembrance flashed upon him of all he had heard of Ariana’s coquetry, and he merely replied, “If that is all, I will remain away from Castleton, rather than deprive my mother and Mrs. Daley of the pleasure of your society.” This proposition, however, was by no means agreeable. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed, “I have no idea of exiling you on my account, only promise to try and not be very disagreeable.”