Miss Barton made her appearance, with all her most bewitching smiles and graces. Without seeming to notice Wright, she seated herself in a charming attitude; and, leaning pensively on the counter, addressed her conversation to her friend, the milliner: but, at every convenient pause, she cast an inquiring glance at Wright, who stood with his long purse of guineas in his hand, and his open pocket-book of bank-notes before him, as if he had been so much astonished by the lady’s appearance, that he could not recover his recollection. Now, Wright was a remarkably well-shaped handsome man, and Miss Barton was in reality as much struck by his appearance as he feigned to be by hers. No forbidding reserve condemned him to silence; and, as if inspired by the hope of pleasing, he soon grew talkative. “This is the most rare town, this, your town of York.” said he: “I do not well know how I shall ever be able to get myself out of it: so many fine sights, my eyes be quite dazzled!” “And pray, sir, which of all the fine sights do you like the best?” said the milliner. “Oh! the ladies be the finest of all the fine sights: and I know who I think the finest lady I ever beheld--but will never tell--never.” “Never, sir?” said the milliner, whilst Miss Barton modestly cast down her eyes. “Never’s a bold word, sir. I’ve a notion you’ll live to break that rash resolution.” Miss Barton sighed, and involuntarily looked at the glass. “Why, where’s the use,” pursued Wright, “of being laughed at? Where’s the sense of being scoffed at, as a man might be, that would go for to pay a compliment, not well knowing how, to a lady that is used to have court made to her by the first gentlemen in all York?” “Those that think they don’t know how to pay a compliment often pay the best to my fancy,” said the milliner. “What says Miss Barton?” Miss Barton sighed and blushed, or looked as if she meant to blush; and then, raising her well-practised eyes, exclaimed, with theatrical tones and gestures: “Ye sacred pow’rs, whose gracious providence Is watchful for our good, guard me from men, From their deceitful tongues, their vows and flatteries; Still let me pass neglected by their eyes: Let my bloom wither and my form decay, That none may think it worth their while to ruin me, And fatal love may never be my bane.” Scarcely had she concluded her speech, when Pierce Marvel came breathless into the shop. Wright was standing so as to be completely hidden by the door: and Marvel, not seeing his friend, addressed himself, as soon as he had breath, to his mistress.--The lady’s manner changed, and Wright had an opportunity of seeing and admiring her powers of acting. To Marvel, she was coy and disdainful.