Lucy readily seated herself by Mabel's side, upon the old tree which had fallen in a pleasant spot. A high hedge shaded it from the sun on one side, and clusters of wild roses hung down it, and scented the air. A gentle breeze stole up from the valley, and a small stream rippled by in melodious monotony, falling in a tiny cascade over the bank into the river below. The songs of many birds came from all sides of the well wooded country--and here and there a gay butterfly crossed over the fields. They continued for some little time in silence, which Lucy was the first to break, by enquiring if Aston Manor were as pleasant inside as it seemed to promise to be. "Yes, even more pleasant," replied Mabel; "it is a very compact house, the rooms are of a very good size--and the whole place splendidly furnished, and generally admired in our county; the hall is surrounded by a gallery, hung with paintings of great value. The gardens are very beautiful, and every thing else in keeping. Indeed, I think it is quite a bijou of a place." "Is there any room that would do nicely for a dance?" enquired Lucy. "They used to have many pleasant dances there, in good Mrs. Hargrave's lifetime, which mamma remembers well." "Oh, that will be so nice," said Lucy. "What will?" said Mabel, in surprise. "Why, when our castle in the air marriage takes place," said Lucy; "because Caroline is so very fond of dancing, and could lead off a ball with such spirit; and I shall contrive to be nearly always staying with them." "Why do you suppose every thing so certain," said Mabel, startled, alike at the indelicacy of the scheme, and Lucy's cool thoughtlessness in speaking of it. "Do not say it will not be," said Lucy, "or I shall punish you some how or other. Now, would you not be glad to have us down here, Colonel Hargrave and all; think what nice parties there would be; and who knows what nice beau might come down and take you away with him." Mabel's cheek blushed scarlet, and her lips curled in preparation for some angry retort--suddenly she checked herself as she remembered the conversation of the preceding night. Have I then failed so soon, thought she to herself. "Ah, mamma, you know my vain wicked heart better than I do--for the first observation that seems to point me out as single, and needing a lover, makes me angry." "Ah, you blush, Mabel," pursued her heedless tormentor, too unaccustomed to feel for others, to be able to read her countenance, or tell why her words had given pain; "perhaps, you are engaged to some one, under the rose, all the while." Mabel was silent for a moment; it required that moment to seize the reins with which she usually held her temper in check, and then she replied, gently, but gravely.