Mr. Dowlas hailed the arrival with sincere satisfaction, for his hostess' postprandial confidences had been a little irksome. She had been loquacious and exciting, when, if the unvarnished truth may be told, he would fain have been silent, still, tranquil, somnolent and perhaps even asleep; for he had dined copiously. At any time it is unpleasant to hear one's sincerely cherished sentiments caricatured, or made ridiculous by being introduced in a discordant connection, but it is aggravating when the exhibition is obtruded on a mind rendered reposeful by the sense of physical repletion. The lady's jumble of genuine selfish worldliness and artificial pietism had been very far from soothing. He could not but admit in his heart, that he had detected something like the same stirring of mixed motives in himself; but then, even to himself, they had taken a more seemly guise. Here in their grosser manifestation they shocked him greatly. It seemed like looking in a distorting mirror, when the gazer cannot withdraw his eyes from the hideous image, which he still perceives to be his own, although so different and deformed. Mr. Dowlas rose, and said he would take a short stroll in the garden before tea. Mrs. Sangster re-seated herself with Roderick, and proceeded to make herself busy with the worldly affairs and spiritual state of many members of his flock, giving much valuable advice, as of a mother in Israel to her youngest son. Her eye, however, rested not on his comely face, but peered over his shoulder to see how it sped with Sophia and Mr. Wallowby, for she was resolved that no detrimental influence should come between that wealthy man of Manchester and her daughter's charms, if perchance she might find favour in his eyes. Alas! the rich man's eyes were fixed on Mary Brown, whose lively talk engaged both himself and Peter, while Sophia, resplendent embodiment of repose and still life, completed the group, but contributed nothing to the conversation. Mrs. Sangster grew restless as she watched, lost the thread of her discourse more than once, resumed in the wrong place, and wondering what her interlocutor would think, grew more and more confused. Had she looked in his face instead of past him, she would have been reassured. He had moved his chair a little so as to see, by turning his eye, in the same direction to which her looks were directed, and he sat regarding her with a smile of reposeful content. He probably knew nothing of what she was saying, and in truth he bestowed only so much attention as enabled him to smile or bow when a pause in the current of words seemed to call for a sign of assent. The young man's soul was steeped in tranquil satisfaction. He breathed the same air, he occupied the same room with Sophia,--the Sophia ever present in his thoughts by day and his dreams by night, and when he raised his eyes they rested on her form.