"Do not mistake me," she replied; "I have not explained what I mean. As to outward attentions of politeness, oh! yes, I receive them in abundance; but what I intended to make you understand is, that the things I take interest in, and the pleasures I have in view, seem so entirely different from those of the generality of the set I live in, that there is nothing left for me to say; and I often observe that when I do speak, my conversation is either laughed at, or they stare at me as if they did not believe I was serious." Lord Glenmore smiled, and loved his innocent little wife a thousand times the more for her unsophisticated sweetness; nevertheless, as he was likely always to have a part to play in the great world, he could not help wishing that his wife should be able, without putting any force upon her inclinations, to do so likewise. He therefore said, and speaking rather more seriously than he had done: "Retain always, dearest Georgina, this youth and purity of character; but, for my sake, learn, my love, to endure an intercourse with others who may be of a less pure nature than yourself; but who are yet, from your situation and circumstances, likely to be those with whom you must naturally associate: to please me, then, my dearest Georgina, begin from to-day: put on all your smiles, and let me hear that you are the envy of the women, and the admiration of the men. Remember, love, to _please me_." "Any thing to please you," she replied; and she decorated herself with more than usual care. Just as her toilette was about to be completed, Lord Glenmore entered her room with a quantity of lilies of the valley. "Here," he said, "I have brought you your favourite flowers; wear them, love, and let their fragrance remind you of the donor." All this lover-like attention enchanted the person to whom it was addressed, and her eyes sparkled with unwonted brilliancy, and her cheeks were tinged with the glow of pleasure as she fastened her _bouquet_ in her breast. Lord Glenmore, proud of such a wife, as well he might be, handed her into her carriage, and she drove to Lady Tilney's, where the party were to assemble to go to Whitehall stairs. When she entered the room she found nobody yet arrived; a servant made Lady Tilney's apology, saying she should be dressed shortly. Having played a few airs on the piano-forte, she took up a novel, and was busily employed in its pages when Mr. Leslie Winyard was announced. Lady Glenmore felt embarrassed in his presence, she knew not why, but there was something of fear and flutter that came over her whenever he approached, which she could not command. She arose and curtseyed; and then, as though she had payed him too marked a distinction, she remained awkwardly standing, as though she had taken that position by accident--not in honour of him.