Then Perdita arose from the sofa, and indicating a chair close by, again invited the young man to be seated,--accomplishing this courtesy with so ravishing a grace and such a charming smile, that he felt himself intoxicated--bewildered--enchanted by the magic of her beauty, the melody of her silver tones, and the soft persuasion of her manner. For the consciousness of almost superhuman beauty had rendered Perdita emulative of every art and taught her to study every movement which might invest her with a winning way and a witching power;--and thus this singular young woman had acquired a politeness so complete that it seemed intuitive, and a polish so refined that it appeared to have been gained by long and unvaried association with the highest classes. Sinking into the chair thus gracefully offered him, Charles Hatfield could not take his eyes off the magnificent creature who remained standing for a few seconds after he was seated; for, affecting to alter the position of one of the wax candles on the mantel, as if it were too near the mirror, she placed herself in such an attitude that the young man might obtain a perfect view of the flowing outlines of her glorious form,--the splendid arching of the swan-like neck--the luxurious fulness of the bust--the tapering slenderness of the waist--the plump and rounded arms--the large, projecting hips--and the finely proportioned feet and ankles. The effect thus produced by the artful, designing creature, whose voluptuous position seemed all natural and all unstudied, was precisely that which she had intended;--for Charles Hatfield experienced a delirium of emotions till then unknown--and he felt that he could almost spring from his seat, catch that bewitching form in his arms, and, covering her with kisses, exclaim, “Pardon me--but I am mad--intoxicated--raving with passion!” “My mother will not be many minutes, sir,” said Perdita, now returning to her seat upon the sofa; “and in the meantime I must solicit you to exercise your patience--for I am afraid you will find me but a dull companion.” “Impossible!” cried Charles, enthusiastically; then fearing that he had spoken in too decided and earnest a manner to one who was a perfect stranger, he added in a more subdued and reserved tone, “But perhaps I am intruding on your privacy, as I am afraid that when I entered--I mean, I fear that I--I disturbed you----” “I certainly was not aware that my mother expected a visitor this evening,” answered Perdita; “and it is I who should apologise, inasmuch as you caught me in such a lounging, lazy attitude. But since I have been in London I have experienced a heaviness in the atmosphere that engenders indolence--for I have hitherto been accustomed to the country.” “Then you have not long resided in London, Miss Fitzhardinge?” said Charles, hazarding this mode of address with the determination of ascertaining whether the beautiful young woman were married or single.