“Yes, I know that well enough,” answered Lucy, with a shade of pettishness in her tone; “I can say no as well as anybody, if I please, and mamma says she would not influence my choice for the world; but it certainly is very true what mamma says, that I am so giddy I should always be getting into scrapes if I was to marry anybody as young and as giddy as myself. It was only yesterday she was talking about it, after Lord Montreville had brought me that beautiful bouquet of orange-flowers; and she asked me whether I had any objection in the world to him, and whether I did not think him clever, and agreeable, and good-natured, and whether there was any body else I thought more clever, or more agreeable, or more good-natured, and I’m sure I can’t think of any body just now. Lord Slenderdale and Mr. Desmond are handsomer, to be sure; but mamma would be shocked to hear me talk about beauty in that kind of way. It does not sound well in a girl, you know,” Then, after a pause, she added, “Did you think John handsome?” “I believe other folks called him a fine young man, but I am sure I never thought nothing at all about his looks.” “Oh!” thought Lucy, “mamma is quite right; girls should not set any value on the exterior—one should only think of the mind. Besides, Lord Montreville is still very good-looking.” Presently she continued, “Did you think John very clever, Milly?” “La! miss, I don’t know, I am sure. The schoolmaster never said no other than that he was a very good boy at his book, but I never thought about his scholarship. That was no business of mine.” “Was John agreeable, and pleasant, amusing, you know, to talk to.” “He was always pleasant to me, I’m sure; he never gave me a bad word nor an unkind look in his life, and he was always very agreeable to any thing I wished; and, as to being amusing, why we always had other things to think of, than amusing ourselves, so I can’t justly say.” “Oh!” thought Lucy, “he was a good creature, but evidently very stupid and dull; and Lord Montreville is so lively and agreeable!” The result of this conversation was, that Lucy went to bed, pleased with Lord Montreville, and not quite pleased with Milly. She went to sleep and dreamed she was the Marchioness of Montreville, chaperoning her sister Emma to Almack’s. People cannot prevent their dreams. “In vino veritas.” Likewise, in dreams, there is truth. Many a weakness, many a secret preference, which the waking thoughts would not be guilty of harbouring, have been revealed to the dreamer in visions over which he, or she, had no control. The emulator of Milly’s pure, disinterested, uncompromising, uncalculating affection, would never wittingly have allowed the idea of worldly vanities and splendours to have influenced her mind; but I fear we should lower our heroine too much in the opinion of the young and romantic reader, were we to inquire too deeply into the degree in which they did influence her view of the subject.