"How can your woman eyes be so dull, and your woman heart so obtuse?" answered Harley, half-laughing, half-scolding. "Can you not guess that I wish that Helen and myself should both lose the association of mere ward and guardian; that the very familiarity of our intercourse under the same roof almost forbids us to be lovers; that we lose the joy to meet, and the pang to part. Don't you remember the story of the Frenchman, who for twenty years loved a lady, and never missed passing his evenings at her house. She became a widow. 'I wish you joy,' cried his friend; 'you may now marry the woman you have so long adored.' 'Alas,' said the poor Frenchman, profoundly dejected; 'and if so, where shall I spend my evenings?'" Here Violante and Helen were seen in the garden, walking affectionately, arm in arm. "I don't perceive the point of your witty, heartless anecdote," said Lady Lansmere, obstinately. "Settle that, however, with Miss Digby. But, to leave the very day after your friend's daughter comes as a guest!--what will _she_ think of it?" Lord L'Estrange looked steadfastly at his mother. "Does it matter much what she thinks of me?--of a man engaged to another; and old enough to be--" "I wish to Heaven you would not talk of your age, Harley; it is a reflection upon mine; and I never saw you look so well nor so handsome." With that she drew him on toward the young ladies; and, taking Helen's arm, asked her, aside, "if she knew that Lord L'Estrange had engaged rooms at the Clarendon; and if she understood why?" As, while she said this she moved on, Harley was left by Violante's side. "You will be very dull here, I fear, my poor child," said he. "Dull! But why _will_ you call me child? Am I so very--very childlike?" "Certainly, you are to me--a mere infant. Have I not seen you one; have I not held you in my arms?" VIOLANTE.--"But that was a long time ago!" HARLEY.--"True. But if years have not stood still for you, they have not been stationary for me. There is the same difference between us now that there was then. And, therefore, permit me still to call you child, and as child to treat you!" VIOLANTE.--"I will do no such thing. Do you know that I always thought I was good-tempered till this morning." HARLEY.--"And what undeceived you? Did you break your doll?" VIOLANTE (with an indignant flash from her dark eyes).--"There!--again!--you delight in provoking me!" HARLEY.--"It _was_ the doll, then. Don't cry; I will get you another." Violante plucked her arm from him, and walked away toward the Countess in speechless scorn. Harley's brow contracted, in thought and in gloom. He stood still for a moment or so, and then joined the ladies. "I am trespassing sadly on your morning; but I wait for a visitor whom I sent to before you were up. He is to be here at twelve. With your permission, I will dine with you to-morrow, and you will invite him to meet me." "Certainly. And who is your friend? I guess--the young author?"