“Agreeable!” repeated Caroline; “such a selfish being? Have you forgotten his attempting to jump into the boat, at the hazard of oversetting it, and of drowning my father and Godfrey, who went out to save him--and when my father warned him--and promised to return for him--selfish, cowardly creature!” “Oh! poor man, he was so frightened, that he did not know what he was doing--he was not himself.” “You mean he was himself,” said Caroline. “You are very ungrateful, Caroline,” cried Rosamond; “for I am sure M. de Tourville admires you extremely--yes, in spite of that provoking, incredulous smile, I say he does admire you exceedingly.” “And if he did,” replied Caroline, “that would make no difference in my opinion of him.” “I doubt _that_,” said Rosamond: “I know a person’s admiring me would make a great difference in my opinion of his taste and judgment--and how much more if he had sense enough to admire you!” Rosamond paused, and stood for some minutes silent in reverie. “It will never do, my dear,” said Mrs. Percy, looking up at her; “trust me it will never do; turn him which way you will in your imagination, you will never make a hero of him--nor yet a brother-in-law.” “My dear mother, how could you guess what I was thinking of?” said Rosamond, colouring a little, and laughing; “but I assure you--now let me explain to you, ma’am, in one word, what I think of M. de Tourville.” “Hush! my dear, he is here.” The gentlemen came into the room to tea.--M. de Tourville walked to the table at which Mrs. Percy was sitting; and, after various compliments on the beauty of the views from the windows, on the richness of the foliage in the park, and the superiority of English verdure, he next turned to look at the pictures in the saloon, distinguished a portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds, then passing to a table on which lay several books--“Is it permitted?” said he, taking up one of them--the Life of Lord Nelson.