Mr. Montenero’s own acquaintance in London was chiefly with the families of some of the foreign ambassadors, and with other foreigners of distinction; but his daughter was not yet acquainted with any English ladies, except the lady of General B----, with whom the Monteneros had been intimate in America. Lady Emily B---- was detained in the country by the illness of one of her family, and Miss Montenero, having declined going into public with Mrs. Coates, would wait quietly at home till her English friends should come to town. Again shame for my mother’s remissness obliged me to cast down my eyes in awkward silence. But Mowbray, Heaven bless him for it! went on fluently. This was the moment, he said, before Miss Montenero should appear in public, and get into the whirl of the great world, before engagements should multiply and press upon her, as inevitably they would as soon as she had made her début--this was the moment, and the only moment probably she would ever have to herself, to see all that was worth a stranger’s notice in London. Mr. Montenero was obliged to Mowbray, and I am sure so was I. Miss Montenero, infinitely more desirous to see than to be seen, was pleased with the parties we arranged for her and from this time forward, scarcely a day passed without our having the pleasure of attending the father and daughter. My mother sighed and remonstrated in vain; my father, absorbed in the House of Commons, was satisfied with seeing me regularly at breakfast. He usually dined at clubs, and it was happily his principle to let his son amuse himself his own way. But I assured her, and truly, that I was only amusing myself, and that I had not formed any serious intentions. I wished to see more of the lady. Mowbray, with ready invention, continually suggested something particularly well worth seeing or hearing, some delightful pretext for our being together. Sometimes he accompanied us, sometimes he excused himself--he had indispensable engagements. His _indispensable engagements_ I knew were usually with ladies of a very different sort from Miss Montenero. Mowbray was desperately in love with the young actress who had played the part of Jessica, and to her he devoted every moment he could command. I regretted for his sake his dissipated tastes, but I felt the more obliged to him for the time he sacrificed to friendship; and perhaps, to tell things just as they were, I was glad he was safely in love with a Jessica of his own, as it secured me from all apprehension of his rivalling or wishing to rival me. Miss Montenero he confessed was not in the least to his taste. In this instance I was quite satisfied that our tastes should completely differ. I never liked him so well--we went on most happily together. I felt uncommonly benevolent towards the whole world; my heart expanded with increased affection for all my friends--every thing seemed to smile upon me--even the weather. The most delicious morning I ever remember was that on