Julia was perhaps the most successful sympathizer in the household. Her fine dramatic instinct enabled her to throw herself into the artificial mood, and play the part with an abandon relieved and varied by graceful little touches which she could never have displayed in her natural character. She was a woman with a head rather than a heart, and it was when feeling was presented to her through the imagination rather than her own emotions, that she was able to realize, seize and clothe it in expression. Her performance in the new rôle of 'Woman the Consoler,' was delicate, but beautiful and touching in the extreme, and more than once brought the handkerchief to honest Lady Caroline's eyes, who declared in confidence to her General that Julia was a 'fine creature,' and far too good for that vulgar Cr[oe]sus in Manchester. Perhaps the same idea may have struck Julia, or it may have been that the artist in her was engrossed by the new delineation of character, and revelled, for the time, in the artificial emotions of her own creation. It is certain that the Manchester correspondence lost much of its interest. The morning letter was slipped into her pocket as usual, at breakfast, but she no longer seized the first opportunity to escape with it to her own room, and by the end of the week she found three of them still in her pocket unopened. They were all opened at once, glanced over, and locked up in the drawer with those that had gone before them, and some sort of an answer was scrawled to 'Dear Augustus.' It was scarcely so charming a letter as some that had preceded it, and Augustus thought so, with his first twinge of love, pain, and jealousy; for hitherto his path had been one of rose-strewn triumph. But the letter did not take long to knock off--that was the main point at the moment--and she descended the stairs, gloved and bonneted, for a stroll by the lake, before Major Steele had begun to think of growing impatient.