While Perdita was delivering this tissue of falsehoods with an air of the most profound sincerity, she still kept her hand upon that of the young man--still retained her countenance near his own--and likewise fixed upon him looks at once languishing, tender, and voluptuous. Again did he lose all power of sober reflection and, completely yielding to the influence which the syren had in so short a time gained over him, he said, “I shall be proud and delighted to act as your escort, Miss Fitzhardinge. But you just now addressed me by my name--and yet I thought you were unprepared for my presence here this evening.” “I was well aware that my mother wished to see you on particular business,” said Perdita, having a ready reply for every question that might be put to her; “and therefore when I saw you enter the room, I concluded that you must be Mr. Charles Hatfield.” “And are you acquainted with the nature of the business concerning which Mrs. Fitzhardinge desired to speak with me?” inquired the young man, wondering why the old lady did not make her appearance. “Yes--I am well informed on that subject,” returned Perdita; “but pray do not ask me to talk to you on business! I detest the very name! And now perhaps you will consider me a silly--flighty--volatile creature----” “I consider you to be an angel of beauty!” exclaimed Charles, unable to restrain the raptures which hurried him on to this impassioned ejaculation. “I was told before I came to London that the gentlemen of the great metropolis were very fond of paying silly young ladies vain and empty compliments,” said Perdita, looking with good-humoured archness at her companion, while her eyes beamed with wickedness and her bosom heaved visibly. “Is it the first time that you have been assured of your beauty?” asked Charles, still carried away by an uncontroullable influence. “No--not precisely the first,” responded Perdita, with a _naiveté_ so admirably assumed that her companion believed it to be completely genuine. “There was a young gentleman--or rather a nobleman, but I must not mention his name--in the country, who offered me his hand;--and he paid me many very fine compliments.” “And you accepted the proposal? you are engaged to him?” exclaimed Charles, with a strange fluttering of the heart. “Neither the one nor the other,” answered Perdita. “I could not love him--and therefore I declined the honour. My mother was angry with me, and talked a great deal about the excellence of the match and so forth: but I was obstinate--yes, very obstinate, Mr. Hatfield,” she said archly; “for never--never,” she continued, her tone suddenly becoming earnest and her manner serious,--“never could I bestow my hand where I cannot likewise give my heart!”