To this unexpected compliment young Morton could do no more than bow in silence, for it was too flattering for a reply--and too true to deny. As Delafield turned his eye, at a little loss to know whether to be pleased or not with his own humility, he met a look from Charlotte that more than rewarded him for the effort. It was a mild, benevolent, pure glance, that spoke admiration and heartfelt pleasure. He forgot his solo, and the expected compliments; and, for the rest of the evening, that thrilling expression floated in his brain, and was present to his thoughts; it was worth a thousand of the studied glances that were continually aimed at him from all sides of the room, and with every variety of eye--from the piercing black, to the ogling gray. It was a look that came directly from, and went to, the heart. If young ladies always knew how nicely nature has qualified the other sex to judge of their actions, what multitudes of astonishingly expressive glances, and artfully contrived gestures and movements, would sink down into looks, that indicated feelings and motives, that were adapted to the occasion! What trouble in creating incidents that might draw out charms would be avoided! And, in short, how much extra labour, both of body and mind, would be spared! This agreeable contemplation of Mr. Delafield was soon interrupted by the cheerful voice of Maria Osgood, who cried-- "Bless me, George, you really do look ill." "It is seldom that I have much health to boast of," replied the youth, in a feeble voice, and with a still feebler smile. "But," said Maria, without reflecting, "you look worse than usual." There was so much truth in this remark, that the young man could only smile in silence, while Seymour, surveying the very plain exterior of his new acquaintance, turned his eyes with additional satisfaction towards a mirror that reflected his own form from head to feet. "You will not attempt the flute to-night, George?" said Charlotte. "I believe I must, or not fulfil my engagement to Mrs. Osgood." "Surely," continued Charlotte, in a low tone to her friend, "George had better not play, looking so ill as he does." "Certainly not; besides, his performance would not shine after that of Mr. Delafield." Seymour overheard this speech, which was really intended only for the ear of Charlotte, and he was instantly seized with an unaccountable desire to hear the flute of Mr. Morton. Seymour was conscious that he played well, and could he have forgotten the indifference that Miss Henly exhibited to his performance, would have been abundantly flattered with the encomiums that were lavished on his skill.