“No matter, your own soft vowels are in more request here. The dress I told you of is now come,--my servant will give it to you; so, be ready with your guitar, if the ladies wish for it, this evening.” Giovanni bowed respectfully, and went on with his work, and soon after Linton strolled into the garden to muse over the late scene. Had any one been there to mark the signs of triumphant elation on his features, they would have seen the man in all the sincerity of his bold, bad heart. His success was perfect. Knowing well the proud nature of the young, high-spirited woman, thoroughly acquainted with her impatient temper and haughty character, he rightly foresaw that to tell her she had become the subject of a calumny was to rouse her pride to confront it openly. To whisper that the world would not admit of this or that, was to make her brave that world, or sink under the effort. To sting her to such resistance was his wily game, and who knew better how to play it? The insinuated sneers at the class to which she had once belonged, as one not “patented” to assume the vices of their betters, was a deep and most telling hit; and he saw, when they separated, that her mind was made up, at any cost and every risk, to live down the slander by utter contempt of it Linton asked for no more. “Let her,” said he to himself, “but enter the lists with the world for an adversary! I 'll give her all the benefits of the best motives,--as much purity of heart, and so forth, as she cares for; but, 'I 'll name the winner,' after all.” Too true. The worthy people who fancy that an innate honesty of purpose can compensate for all the breaches of conventional use, are like the volunteers of an army who refuse to wear its uniform, and are as often picked down by their allies as by their enemies. CHAPTER III. A PARTIAL RECOVERY AND A RELAPSE Such a concourse ne'er was seen Of coaches, noddies, cars, and jingles, “Chars-a-bancs,” to hold sixteen, And “sulkies,” meant to carry singles. The Pic-nic: A Lay. It is an old remark that nothing is so stupid as love-letters; and, pretty much in the same spirit, we may affirm that there are few duller topics than festivities. The scenes in which the actor is most interested are, out of compensation, perhaps, those least worthy to record; the very inability of description to render them is disheartening too. One must eternally resort to the effects produced, as evidences of the cause, just as, when we would characterize a climate, we find ourselves obliged to fall back upon the vegetable productions, the fruits and flowers of the seasons, to convey even anything of what we desire. So is it Pleasure has its own atmosphere,--we may breathe, but hardly chronicle it.