“Yes; up and in her dressing-room. Do, dear sir, go in and see her, for my mother says she is too feverish to leave her room to-day; but I am sure that it will make her ten times worse to be prevented from seeing you the last day you are with us.” “Does the little gipsy then care so much for me?--that’s fair; for I am her friend, and will prove it to her, by giving up my own fancies to hers: so trust me with her, _tête-à-tête_,--young gentleman; go off, if you please, and do your own business.” Mr. Palmer knocked at Amelia’s door, and fancying he heard an answer of admittance, went in. “Oh, Mr. Palmer, my good Mr. Palmer, is it you?” “Yes; but you seem not above half to know whether you are glad or sorry to see your good Mr. Palmer; for while you hold out your hand, you turn away your face from me.--Dear, dear! what a burning hand, and how the pulse goes and flutters! What does Dr. Wheeler say to this? I am a bit of a physician myself--let me look at you. What’s this? eyes as red as ferret’s--begging your eyes’ pardon, young lady--What’s this about? Come,” said he, drawing a chair and sitting down close beside her, “no mysteries--no mysteries--I hate mysteries--besides, we have not time for them. Consider, I go to-morrow, and have all my shirts to pack up: ay, smile, lady, as your father used to do; and open your whole heart to me, as he always did. Consider me as an old friend.” “I do consider you as a sincere, excellent friend,” said Amelia; “but--” Amelia knew that she could not explain herself without disobeying, and perhaps betraying, her mother. “No _buts_,” said Mr. Palmer, taking hold of her hand. “Come, my little Amelia, before you have put that ring on and off your pretty finger fifty times more, tell me whom you would wish to put a ring on this finger for life?” “Ah! that is the thing _I cannot_ tell you!” said Amelia. “Were I alone concerned, I would tell you every thing; but--ask me no more, I cannot tell you the whole truth.” “Then there’s something wrong somewhere or other. Whenever people tell me they cannot speak the truth, I always say, then there’s something wrong. Give me leave, Amelia, to ask--” “Don’t question me,” said Amelia: “talk to my mother. I don’t know how I ought to answer you.”