Isadore added, that she thought it must be so, and would be sorry to believe it otherwise, as the occasional separation of virtue and success in this world afforded to her mind one of the strongest corroborative assurances of a future state. De Vaux laughed at her, and called her a little philosopher, and the conversation branched off to other things. Breakfast is a meal at which one loves to linger. The daylight and the wide world have all, more or less, an idea of labour attached to them; and though that labour be of the lightest kind, there is still a feeling in going forth after breakfast that we are about to take our share of the original curse; which feeling inclines man naturally to linger over the tea and coffee, and saunter to the window, or look into the fire, or play with the knife and fork for a few minutes more than is positively required. What between one oral occupation or another, then, the party at Mrs. Falkland's breakfast-table contrived to pass an hour very pleasantly. Colonel Manners, when all had risen, bestowed five minutes more upon the long window--while Isadore and her mother, De Vaux and Marian, held separate councils on the future proceedings of the day--and then retired to his own room, to write a note of business to some of his people in London. He had not long been gone when the fat and venerable servant, whom we have called Peter, entered the room, bearing a note, which, with much respectful ceremony, he delivered over to the hands of Miss De Vaux. Marian turned a little red and a little pale; and, had a jealous husband seen her receive that billet, he might have begun to suspect one whose every thought was pure; but the truth was, that poor Marian had instantly recognised her uncle's hand; and as her last ideas in respect to him had not been very pleasant, she was afraid that the new ones about to be called up by his note might be still more disagreeable. Without pausing to examine the scrawl upon the back, which implied her name, she broke the seal, and read. As she did so, a gentle smile and a softer suffusion stole over her face; but then she became more grave, then looked vexed, and then handed the paper to Mrs. Falkland, saying, "Do read it, my dear aunt; my uncle is both very kind and very unkind; but, indeed, it concerns you and Edward a great deal more than it does me."