Left to herself, Mrs. Dodd would have broken the bad news to Edward at once, and taken the line of consoling him under her own vexation: it would not have been the first time that she had played that card. But young Mr. Hardie had said it would be unkind to poison Edward's day: and it is sweet woman's nature to follow suit; so she and Julia put bright faces on, and Edward passed a right jocund afternoon with them. He was not allowed to surprise one of the looks they interchanged to relieve their secret mortification. But, after dinner, as the time drew near for him to go back to Oxford, Mrs. Dodd became silent, and a little _distraite;_ and at last drew her chair away to a small table, and wrote a letter. In directing it she turned it purposely, so that Julia could catch the address: _“Edward Dodd, Esq., Exeter College, Oxford._” Julia was naturally startled at first, and her eye roved almost comically to and fro the letter and its Destination, seated calm and unconscious of woman's beneficent wiles. But her heart soon divined the mystery: it was to reach him the first thing in the morning, and spare him the pain of writing the news to them; and, doubtless, so worded as not to leave him a day in doubt of their forgiveness and sympathy. Julia took the missive unobserved by the Destination, and glided out of the room to get it quietly posted. The servant-girl was waiting on the second-floor lodgers, and told her so, with a significant addition, viz., that the post was in this street, and only a few doors off. Julia was a little surprised at her coolness, but took the hint with perfect good temper, and just put on her shawl and bonnet, and went with it herself. The post-office was not quite so near as represented; but she was soon there, for she was eager till she had posted it. But she came back slowly and thoughtfully; here in the street, lighted only by the moon, and an occasional gaslight, there was no need for self-restraint, and soon her mortification betrayed itself in her speaking countenance. And to think that her mother, on whom she doted, should have to write to her son, there present, and post the letter! This made her eyes fill, and before she reached the door of the lodging, they were brimming over. As she put her foot on the step, a timid voice addressed her in a low tone of supplication. “May I venture to speak one word to you, Miss Dodd?--one single word?” She looked up surprised; and it was young Mr. Hardie. His tall figure was bending towards her submissively, and his face, as well as his utterance, betrayed considerable agitation. And what led to so unusual a rencontre between a young gentleman and lady who had never been introduced? “The Tender Passion,” says a reader of many novels. Why, yes; the tenderest in all our nature: Wounded Vanity.