"Dear Ponsonby," said I, as soon as she had quitted the room, while I bestowed a thousand kisses on the beautiful watch and chain, "you are the first man on earth who ever sacrificed his own pleasure and passions to secure my repose!" Lord Ponsonby's father still continued another fortnight in the same hopeless state. His favourite son deeply lamented his illness, and had been indefatigable in his attentions; refusing to visit me or anybody as long as there was hope, or while his father could derive comfort from his son's affections; but, when nothing more could be done, he had sought comfort in the society of the person who loved him best. I should do Lord Ponsonby great injustice were I to say that he ever forgot or neglected his father. I asked a friend of Lord Ponsonby one day why he did not adore his beautiful wife? He had no idea that I was acquainted with his lordship. "Lord Ponsonby is always very kind and affectionate to her," was the reply. "True," I continued; "but I have heard that he does not fly to her for consolation when he is melancholy, nor consult her, nor make a friend of her." "Lady Fanny is a sweet-tempered child," said he; "but not at all clever: and then, poor thing! she is very deaf, which affliction came on after a violent attack of scarlet fever." "What a beautiful, sweet and calm expression of countenance she possesses," I remarked, "so pale, that her features at first sight appear only pretty; but on examination they are found perfect; and her dark, clear, brown eyes----" "So like your own," said the gentleman, interrupting me. "I have heard that remark made before," I replied, blushing deeply; "but I am not vain enough to credit it." "With all their beauty," remarked Ponsonby's friend, "men soon grow tired of those Jerseys, with the exception only of Lady ----, with whom the wicked world say the Duke of Argyle has been in love more than twenty years." "Is not the boy they call Frank supposed to be a son of the duke?" I asked. "I have heard so; but let us hope it is all vile scandal." "With all my heart; but how does Lady Fanny Ponsonby pass her time?" "She draws prettily," he observed: "and she has now got a little companion she is very fond of." "Who is that?" said I. "A mouse, which, having one night showed its little face to her ladyship in her drawing-room, she so coaxed him with her dainties for three weeks together, that she contrived to tame him: and now he will eat them out of her lovely hands." "But then after the mouse is gone to bed," said I, "how does her ladyship amuse herself?" "With her younger sister, or in writing or drawing. Lady Fanny does not much care for society." "She is not a flirt, I believe?" "What man can she think it worth while to flirt with," answered he, "being married to such a one as Ponsonby." I was charmed to hear my own sentiments from the lips of another, and one of his own sex too. "You admire Lord Ponsonby then?" said I.