In the evening, he, as usual, turned over the leaves of Fanny’s music-book, while she was singing, or forgot to turn them over, while gazing with delight upon those melting, yet innocent eyes, which met his so kindly and so trustingly—eyes, that looked as if there lurked in the heart beneath, depths of unawakened and unexplored feelings, which only waited to be excited. But when he was alone, the remarks of Isabella recurred to his recollection, and he wondered what in him could have struck her as being so singular and so reserved. The next day, when they were riding, he found himself near her, and reverted to the conversation of the preceding day. “I have been quite uneasy, Miss St. Clair, at finding I am so disagreeable as I must be, if I am the precise, formal, measured person you describe me to be.” A certain step is gained, when, instead of starting a new and indifferent subject, the topic of the preceding conversation is resumed. Most coquettes know, by intuition, that the best mode of accomplishing this is to talk to persons of themselves. Isabella’s heart beat quicker at finding how well she had succeeded in awakening his curiosity; but assuming a nonchalant manner, she answered, “Disagreeable! Surely I never could have said any thing half so uncivil?” “Oh, certainly you did not tell me in so many words that I was disagreeable; but you implied it.” “No, no! Indeed, I think I said every thing most flattering—that you were so very good.” “Well, I suppose if I am so very good, I must not consider being good, and being disagreeable, as synonymous terms; and yet you made it appear yesterday as if they were!” “Oh, Lord Delaford! how can you accuse me of saying any thing so shocking? I only declared you were so good, so superior, I was afraid of you.” “But a person who makes you fear him, must be disagreeable to you.” “No, indeed: I like to be awed. I am fond of an organ in a cathedral; and I admire lofty mountains, and beautiful stormy skies, and every thing that is grand and sublime in art and in nature! Could one bear to hear one’s own feeble voice mingle itself with the pealing reverberations of the organ in the glorious pile of St. Peter’s? And does one not feel one’s own nothingness when among the mountains, the torrents, the precipices, the peaks, the glaciers of the stupendous Alps? Yet surely these are pleasurable emotions! With me, at least, awe and pleasure are very compatible sensations.” As she spoke her large and brilliant eye glanced upwards for a moment, with an expression of lofty enthusiasm.