“Without fault!” replied Henry, half angrily; “of course he has faults: every one has. I do not wish to make him out ‘a faultless monster, which the world ne’er knew;’ but he has better qualities than any other man I ever saw. I shall not say person, because I think you as near perfection as he is, though your question is enough to provoke one; but you shall judge for yourself, and see whether I have said too much. He will be in town in a few days, and I hope my father will make him consider this house as a second home. He has been, I am sure, a brother and a father to me, since I have been with him. I do not believe that I should stand here alive now but for him. I was for ever getting into scrapes when I first joined, owing to my home education, which prevented my learning how to command my temper, and I should never have extricated myself from them without his assistance.” “Indeed, Henry, I did not mean to be provoking,” replied Adelaide. “I have every disposition to admire one you love so much; but why give yourself a bad character? Praise your friend, but do not abuse yourself.” “I do not think I deserve much commendation,” said Henry, smiling in his turn; “when I can fire up at an innocent expression from you, my actions would belie my words.” Had Henry been able to read Adelaide’s heart, he would not have suspected her of a wish to treat Warenne’s good qualities with lightness. She had been impressed with a very favourable idea of him during the three weeks she had passed in his society at Norton Chenies, and was sufficiently disposed to admire a character, in many respects congenial with her own. Not that she had, what is commonly called, fallen in love with him, but that she had been pleased with his spirit, his superior intelligence, and his high-minded chivalrous tone of sentiment. He had also appeared to appreciate her from the first moment of their acquaintance, and she was grateful to him for his discernment. When Henry left her, she could not help reflecting upon what had formed the principal topic of their conversation, and she certainly did not find her esteem for Warenne decreased by Henry’s commendation. She thought over, one by one, the little incidents which had been mentioned, with a secret feeling of satisfaction at his strict observance of her request to him; and though she did not yet think of love, Warenne, it may not be denied, would have been gratified, had he known how much his image occupied her mind: to him the three weeks at Norton Chenies had been the bright epoch of his life.