The kindhearted very soon begin to feel an interest in those who are thrown much with them, and, though Lucy presented many faults to her notice, Mabel learnt to watch her with great interest. It soon became evident to her that she was perfectly in earnest in her attempts to engage the affections of Captain Clair, and, though at first she had been disgusted and pained at the idea--more ready to pity than condemn--she felt for Lucy when she perceived, by her variable spirits, that her heart was engaged in the flirtation she had so thoughtlessly commenced. The conduct of Clair puzzled her, she wished to believe that his attentions were serious, and yet she could not help thinking they meant nothing beyond the fashionable love he might often have professed for the most pleasing young lady of any society in which he happened to find himself. Still, she hoped she was mistaken; and thought, over again and again the little anecdotes which Lucy daily brought to her confidence, assuming them as unmistakeable signs of an affection which would soon declare itself. Mabel knew that a look, a single word, even an emphasis on an ordinary word are sometimes the evidences of affection. Yet, all that Lucy told her, seemed to fall short, certainly of her ideas of love, formed, as they had been, from her own unhappy history. Yet she hesitated to speak her opinion freely; for, after all, it might be only a very unkind suspicion of one who had not given any very good cause for believing him to be a trifler. He had, besides, been so kind to herself, that she could not help feeling prepossessed in his favor. Meanwhile, Clair appeared as attentive as ever, but his attentions were never varied by ill humour or depression. Still Lucy rested confident in the power of her own attractions--and, persisting in believing he was only diffident--she became more and more lavish of encouragement, without, however, finding her admirer become either warmer or bolder.