“We have been here about a fortnight, and I believe we shall stay about a month longer.” “Indeed!--A month!--So long!--How fortunate!--But where are you?” “We lodge a little out of the town, on the road to Cirencester.” “How unfortunate!--We are at such a shocking distance!--I’m with Lady Bradstone--a most charming woman!--Whom are you with?” “With my poor father,” said Ellen; “he has been very ill lately, and we came here on his account.” “Ill!--Old Mr. Elmour!--I’m extremely concerned--but whom have you to attend him?--you should send to town for Dr. Grant--do you know he is the only man now?--the only man Lady Bradstone and I have any dependence on--if I were dying, he is the man I should send for. Do have him for Mr. Elmour, my dear--and don’t be alarmed, above all things--you know it’s so natural, at your father’s age, that he should not be as well as he has been--but I distress you--and detain you.” Our heroine, after running off these unmeaning sentences, passed on, being ashamed to walk with Ellen in public, because Lady Bradstone had whispered, “_Who is she?_”--Not to be known in the world of fashion is an unpardonable crime, for which no merit can atone. Three days elapsed before Miss Turnbull went to see her friends, notwithstanding her extreme concern for poor Mr. Elmour. Her excuse to her conscience was, that Lady Bradstone’s carriage could not sooner be spared. People in a certain rank of life are, or make themselves, slaves to horses and carriages; with every apparent convenience and luxury, they are frequently more dependent than their tradesmen or their servants. There was a time when Almeria would not have been restrained by these imaginary _impossibilities_ from showing kindness to her friends; but that time was now completely past. She was, at present, anxious to avoid having any private conversation with Ellen, because she was ashamed to avow her change of views and sentiments. In the short morning visit which she paid her, Almeria talked of public places, of public characters, of dress and equipages, &c. She inquired, indeed, with a modish air of infinite sensibility, for poor Mr. Elmour; and when she heard that he was confined to his bed, she regretted most excessively that she could not see him; but a few seconds afterwards, with a suitable change of voice and countenance, she made an easy transition to the praise of a new dress of Lady Bradstone’s invention. Frederick Elmour came into the room in the midst of the eulogium on her ladyship’s taste--she was embarrassed for a moment; but quickly recovering the tone of a fine lady, she spoke to him as if he had never been any thing to her but a common acquaintance. The dignity and firmness of his manner provoked her pride; she wished to coquet with him--she tried to excite his jealousy by talking of Lord Bradstone: but vain were all her airs and inuendoes; they could not extort from him even a sigh. She was