She had watched at our window for the captain's passing. When at length he appeared, she was standing so close to the glass, her eyes so unmistakably met his side-look, that he could not pretend he had not seen her. As he bowed with most respectful civility, she beckoned him with a single movement of a finger, and went, herself, to let him in. When he had followed her into our parlour, his manner was outwardly of the most delicate consideration, but she thought she saw beneath it a certain uneasiness. They spoke awhile of her removal from her father's house; but he avoided question as to its cause, or as to her intentions. At last, she said directly, with assumed lightness: "I think of going to London with my brother, on the _Phoebe_." She was watching him closely: his face brightened wonderfully. "I vow, you could do nothing better," he said. "_There_ is _your_ world. I've always declared you were a stranger in this far-off land. 'Tis time you found your proper element. I can't help confessing it; 'tis due to you I should confess it--though alas for us whom you leave in New York!" She looked at him for a moment, with a slight curling of the lip; witnessed his recovery from the fear that she might throw herself upon his care; saw his comfort at being relieved of a possible burden he was not prepared to assume; and then said, very quietly: "I think Mrs. Russell is coming. You had best go." With a look of gallant adoration, he made to kiss her hand first. But she drew it away, and put her finger to her lip, as if to bid him depart unheard. When he had left the house, she fell upon the sofa and wept, but only for wounded vanity, for chagrin that she had exposed her heart to one of those gentry who will adore a woman until there is danger of her becoming an embarrassment. Before long, she arose, and dried her eyes, and went up-stairs to pack her trunks. Thus ended this very light affair of the heart; which had so heavy consequences for so many people.