"This looks like a sketch of an early scene of my boyhood," he said, not appearing to notice the pause which the other lady had made. "A holly field!--true, it is so: here is the quickset hedge, the old stile, and the hall in the distance. Lady Dora, you have a faithful memory--a clear vision--a skilful pen: may I keep this?" and he fixed his eye full upon her. Their eyes met, and in that schooled look, speaking only of the past in reference to herself--not a shade of bitter regret in it--who might have read that only one thought at that moment was gnawing at his heart--his lost Minnie? For it was on that stile he had sat full often, watching for her; 'twas there she came the night they fled. Lady Dora dropped her eyes, and a shudder passed over her; for she, too, saw Minnie before her, and her heart upbraided her for more than the weakness of the present moment, which was insensibly stealing over her. She felt that, in all her sorrow, she had not acted the part of one, almost a sister to that poor girl; and she asked herself, "What can this man's heart be, to forget so soon, and by so many ways lead me to suppose I am not an object of indifference to him? And what must I seem to him, even to cross a glance with him, engendering thoughtful dreaming?" Then vanity, the ruling queen of earth, whispered, "He loved you before he saw her, or his half-uttered words were traitors; and, if she proved unworthy the love he gave her _in pique_, why should he regret her loss?" "You are thoughtful, Lady Dora," he said gently, taking a seat beside her. "I was going to make the same remark," cried Lady Lysson, who overheard the words, though the tone was so very low. "I declare English girls bring English hearts every where, and are always gloomy or sentimental." "Do not accuse me of the latter!" exclaimed Lady Dora, starting up, and shaking off the incubus overwhelming her; "I beg to disclaim all acquaintance with so missy-ish a creation as mawkish sentiment." "You are quite right, my dear," answered the other lady; "I know nothing more dreadful than a bread and butter miss. If a man but look at her, she drops her eyes and blushes; she disowns any thing so dreadful as a corn; consequently all accidental treadings on the toe, make her heart flutter, and become so many gentle avowals of love, oddly enough conveyed though they may be." "I disagree with your ladyship," said Miles, "about the oddity of the act; 'tis wittily imagined, for, in doing so, a man stoops to conquer!" "Oh, dreadful!" cried Lady Lysson; "but, to continue my sketch. If you speak to her of any one particular flower, even if it were the humble daisy itself, she would mow a field to obtain a sufficient quantity to convince you, you were most completely understood, and sympathized with; and as to colours--why, you could make a chameleon of her, every hour different in hue, if it so pleased you."