"There," whispered Charles, "is a girl after your own heart--Margaret Howard _will_ speak the truth, however unpalatable it may be, and see what wry faces poor Miss Lewis makes in trying _not_ to swallow it--I am sure Mary Ellis's flattery is a thousand times kinder and more amiable." Mr. Hall did not answer. His eyes were perusing the face of her, whose lips had just given such honourable testimony to a virtue so rarely respected by the world of fashion. A decent boldness lighted up the clear hazel eyes that did not seem to be unconscious of the dark and penetrating glances at that moment resting upon them. She was dressed with remarkable simplicity. No decoration in colour relieved the spotless whiteness of her attire. Her hair of pale, yet shining brown, was plainly parted over a brow somewhat too lofty for mere feminine beauty, but white and smooth as Parian marble. Her features, altogether, bore more resemblance to a Pallas than a Venus. They were calm and pure, but somewhat cold and passionless--and under that pale, transparent skin, there seemed no under current, ebbing and flowing with the crimson tide of the heart. Her figure, veiled to the throat, was of fine, though not very slender proportions. There was evidently no artificial compression about the waist, no binding ligatures to prevent the elastic motions of the limbs, the pliable and graceful movements of nature. "She has a fine face--a very handsome face," repeated Charles, responding to what Mr. Hall _looked_, for as yet he had uttered nothing; "but to me, it is an uninteresting one. She is not generally liked--respected, it is true, but feared--and fear is a feeling which few young ladies would wish to inspire. It is a dangerous thing to live above the world--at least, for a woman." Charles availed himself of the earliest opportunity of introducing his friend to Miss Howard, glad to be liberated for a while from the close companionship of a man who made him feel strangely uncomfortable with regard to himself, and well pleased with the opportunity of conversing with his favourite, Mary Ellis. "I feel quite vexed with Margaret," said this thoughtless girl, "for spoiling my compliment to Miss Lewis. I would give one of my little fingers to catch her for once in a white lie." "Ask her if she does not think herself handsome," said Charles; "no woman ever acknowledged that truth, though none be more firmly believed." He little expected she would act upon his suggestion, but Mary was too much delighted at the thought of seeing the uncompromising Margaret guilty of a prevarication, to suffer it to pass unheeded. "Margaret," cried she, approaching her, unawed by the proximity of the majestic stranger--"Mr. Brown says you will deny that you think yourself handsome. Tell me the truth--don't you believe yourself _very_ handsome?"