The subject here took another turn, and Lucy again applied herself to tease the parrot with the same listlessness as before--thinking the conversation very dull, yet too idle to throw in her share. She was aroused from her apathy, by hearing Miss Ware ask Mabel if she would bring her young friend to tea on the morrow, if Mrs. Lesly could content herself with Amy's company; for to ask her, she knew to be useless. Lucy feared Mabel was going to decline, and she cast such an imploring look at her as to decide the question, and make her promise that, if Mrs. Lesly continued as well as she had been, and would consent to part with them, they would come with pleasure. Lucy thought this, a very satisfactory conclusion, to so dull a visit, and once again all smiles, shook Miss Ware warmly by the hand, as Mabel rose to leave, and returned home in high spirits. CHAPTER VIII. A parent's heart may prove a snare; The child she loves so well, Her hand may lead, with gentlest care, Down the smooth road to hell. Nourish its flame, destroy its mind, Thus do the blind mislead the blind, Even with a mother's love. Lucy Villars was a pretty girl, with fairy-like figure, small features, laughing mouth, bright blue sparkling eyes, and a profusion of light ringlets. Her step was buoyant, and her voice full of animation. It might have been vanity that made the sparkle of those eyes so brilliant, and her smiles so frequent, but as her merry laugh echoed back the joyousness of her own heart, few were disposed to condemn the feeling, whatever it might be, that rendered her so seemingly happy with herself, and all around her. What mental abilities she might possess, however, were completely overshadowed by the mistakes of early education; at times they would peep forth when her feelings were really stirred by any strong impulse of good or evil; but so uncommon were these indications of mind, that no one could regard them as any true sign even of an originally strong intellect; and her ordinary flippancy was, perhaps, more certainly chosen as an index to the spirit within. She had been but an apt pupil in a bad school. When scarcely more than a tottering child, she had taken her place at the dancing academy, learning in her lisping language to compare waltzes and polkas, and criticise dress, and to display her tiny figure for the admiration of spectators; feeling her little heart bound when perhaps she attracted notice from being the smallest and gayest of her companions. Then, in the juvenile party, where the lesson of the morning could be so well displayed, where she early learnt to hear her nonsense listened to with pleasure, and, where, even the old and sensible regarded her little affectations with a smile, she found another opportunity for display in the world for which she was educated.