“Oh, you needn't think, with your provoking laugh,” said Miss Bray, “that I care a fig for Mr. Bernard's attention to her.” “I didn't say so.” “No, but you thought so, and you know you did; and what's more, it's too bad that you should take such a delight in provoking me. I believe it's all jealousy at last.” “Jealousy, my dear Matilda,” said her companion, “is a jaundiced jade, that thinks every object is of its own yellow colour. But see, the dance is about to commence again, and here comes my partner. You must excuse me.” And with a smile of conscious beauty, Caroline Ballard gave her hand to the handsome young gallant who approached her. Bernard and Virginia, too, rose from their seats, but, to the surprise of Matilda Bray, they did not take their places in the dance, but walked towards the door. Bernard saw how his old flame was writhing with jealousy, and as he passed her he said, maliciously, “Good evening, Miss Matilda; I hope you are enjoying the ball.” “Oh, thank you, exceedingly,” said Miss Bray, patting her foot hysterically on the floor, and darting from her fine black eyes an angry glance, which gave the lie to her words. Leaving her to digest her spleen at her leisure, the handsome pair passed out of the ball-room and into the lawn. It was already thronged with merry, laughing young people, who, wearied with dancing, were promenading through the gravelled walks, or sitting on the rural benches, arranged under the spreading trees. “Oh, this is really refreshing,” said the young girl, as she smoothed back her tresses from her brow, to enjoy the delicious river breeze. “Those rooms were very oppressive.” “I scarcely found them so,” said Bernard, gallantly; “for when the mind is agreeably occupied we soon learn to forget any inconvenience to which the body may be subjected. But I knew you would enjoy a walk through this fine lawn.” “Oh, indeed I do; and truly, Mr. Bernard,” said the ingenuous girl, “I have much to thank you for. Nearly a stranger in Jamestown, you have made my time pass happily away, though I fear you have deprived yourself of the society of others far more agreeable.” “My dear Miss Temple, I will not disguise from you, even to retain your good opinion of my generosity, the fact that my attention has not been so disinterested as you suppose.” “I thank you, sir,” said Virginia, “for the compliment; but I am afraid that I have not been so agreeable, in return for your civility, as I should. You were witness to a scene, Mr. Bernard, which would make it useless to deny that I have much reason to be sad; and it makes me more unhappy to think that I may affect others by my gloom.”