"I thought you knew, Squire--I mean Mr. Gage, that I am never ashamed of any thing I do," said Harriet. "Besides, this is a very readable one of Eugène Sue's." "Yes--a certain class of French novels are very harmless," said Mr. Gage. "Look!" said Harriet, turning the book round, and holding it up so that he might read the title: 'Arthur.' Now Mr. Gage had never read 'Arthur;' so he said directly, that it was a very clever work; indeed, in parts, really beautiful. There was something quite touching in one or two of the scenes. As this might be safely said of any book written by Eugène Sue, Mr. Gage was not out of his depth. Harriet acquiesced, and asked him what he thought of the character of Hélène. Mr. Gage replied without hesitation, that it was very ably depicted, but that his ideas of female perfection were not exactly formed upon that model. "Too statuesque, perhaps, for your taste," said Harriet. "Yes, that was the case," Mr. Gage said, catching at the hint. "He thought something a little less unbending more attractive in the female character." "And do you not think Arthur very interesting, in spite of his faults?" said Harriet. "Undoubtedly," replied Mr. Gage, "but whether he would find any favour with the fair sex, you can determine better than me." "I don't know. I can't quite make out," said Harriet. "You see one would never be prepared for so strange a disposition. But how beautifully he describes scenery," she continued, turning the leaves. "He makes quite a paradise of this cottage ornée." "Your taste," said Mr. Gage, in a very pointed manner. "Your taste would lead you to a much less simple style of architecture." "Oh, yes!" said Harriet putting up her book to conceal her smiles. "I hate cottages. My idea of perfect felicity is to be found only in a nobleman's seat." "I trust," said Mr. Gage, looking very grand and injured, "that you will never have reason to acknowledge yourself mistaken." "Why, George," said Harriet, just trusting her laughing eyes over the top of her book, "how long have you been an advocate for living in cottages? I should think they must be just one degree worse than barracks." "Heartless!" muttered Mr. Gage, turning away, and walking to the window. Harriet buried her face in her handkerchief to stifle her laughter. She was not in the slightest degree afraid that Mr. Gage would transfer his regard to another, in consequence of her provoking mystifications. She felt that she had regained her power over him, and that as long as she remained single, so would he. But she delighted in mischief, and would not for the world have let him discover that she cared anything about him. At this instant the bell rang. "Now don't for Heaven's sake, George, leave me to entertain your guests," said Harriet, looking up with a very flushed face, "it is only fair to stay and support me."