"Did you see me play the methodist parson, in a tub, at Mrs. Beaumont's masquerade last Thursday?" said Tom, with affected levity. "You may laugh as you please," said I, "at a little fool like me pretending to preach to you, yet I am sensible enough to admire you, and quite feeling enough to regret your time so misspent, your brilliant talents so misapplied." "Bravo! Bravo!" Tom reiterated, "what a funny little girl you are! Pray Miss, how is your time spent?" "Not in drinking brandy," I replied. "And how might your talent be applied, Ma'am?" "Have not I just given you a specimen, in the shape of a handsome quotation?" "My good little girl, it is in the blood, and I can't help it,--and, if I could, it is too late now. I'm dying, I tell you. I know not if my poor father's physician was as eloquent as you are; but he did his best to turn him from drinking. Among other things, he declared to him one day, that the brandy, Arquebusade, and Eau de Cologne, he swallowed, would burn off the coat of his stomach. 'Then,' said my father, 'my stomach must digest in its waistcoat; for I cannot help it.'" "Indeed, I am very sorry for you," I replied: and I hope he believed me: for he pressed my hand hastily, and I think I saw a tear glisten in his bright, dark eye. "Shall I tell Lorne," said poor Tom, with an effort to recover his usual gaiety, "that you will write to him, or will you come to the Tennis-court?" "Neither," answered I, "but you may tell his lordship, that, of course, I am not angry, since I am led to believe he had no intention to humble nor make a fool of me." "Nothing more?" inquired Tom. "Nothing," I replied, "for his lordship." "And what for me?" said Tom. "You! what do you want?" "A kiss!" he said. "Not I, indeed!" "Be it so then; and yet you and I may never meet again on this earth, and just now I thought you felt some interest about me"; and he was going away. "So I do, dear Tom Sheridan!" said I, detaining him; for I saw death had fixed his stamp on poor Sheridan's handsome face. "You know I have a very warm and feeling heart, and taste enough to admire and like you; but why is this to be our last meeting?" "I must go to the Mediterranean"; poor Sheridan continued, putting his hand to his chest, and coughing. "To die!" thought I, as I looked on his sunk, but still very expressive, dark eyes. "Then God bless you!" said I, first kissing his hand, and then, though somewhat timidly, leaning my face towards him. He parted my hair, and kissed my forehead, my eyes, and my lips. "If I do come back," said he, forcing a languid smile, "mind let me find you married, and rich enough to lend me an occasional hundred pounds or two." He then kissed his hand gracefully, and was out of sight in an instant. I never saw him again! CHAPTER II