“Oh! then the rumour is true--and you are deceiving me, my lord!” she exclaimed, affecting a passionate outburst of grief: but, in a few moments, she seemed to exercise an abrupt and powerful controul over her feelings, and rising from her seat, drew herself up into a demeanour of desperate calmness, saying, “Viscount Marston, I will show you that my affection is of no selfish nature. If you love this young lady, who must be your cousin, from all I have heard and know through my mother,--if you prefer the beauteous Frances--for beautiful I am aware she is,--Oh! then I release you from your vows to me--I restore your plight--and I, the obscure and neglected Perdita, will pray in secret for your welfare,--yes, and for the welfare of her who will have robbed me of your affections!” “No, Perdita--no!” cried Charles, profoundly touched by this well-enacted piece of apparently generous self-denial: “I do _not_ love my cousin Frances--and it was only this very morning that I disputed with my parents because I refused to form an alliance on which their hearts are set. Perdita--my beloved Perdita, I thank thee--Oh! heaven alone knows how sincerely I thank thee for this manifestation of generosity,--a generosity that, if possible, has rivetted my affections more indissolubly on thee!” “And you will pardon me, Charles--if in a moment of jealousy----” murmured the designing young woman, hanging down her head in a charming kind of confusion and bashfulness. “Pardon thee!” repeated her dupe, catching her in his arms, and straining her passionately to his breast: “what have I to pardon? Must I pardon thee for loving me so well, my Perdita?--for only those who love well, can know what jealousy is! And, did I think that I had cause, should I not be jealous of thee, sweet Perdita? Oh! yes--and my jealousy would be very fierce and terrible in its consequences. But on neither side shall there be cause for jealousy----” “At least not on mine, Charles,” returned the young woman, gently extricating herself from his arms, and resuming her seat upon the sofa. “And now, my lord,” she added playfully, “when do you intend to take some charming suburban villa--fit it up in a chaste, elegant, and beautiful style--and bear thither your bride,--for your bride am I prepared to become on the conditions which have already been established between us?” “Without a day’s--without an hour’s unnecessary delay, my beloved Perdita,” answered Charles, his cheeks flushing and his eyes sparkling with the hopes and voluptuous thoughts inspired by the question thus put to him; and throwing his arms around her, he drew the bewitching syren towards him. “Charles--Charles,” she murmured, as he glued his lips to her warm, glowing cheek; “you are adorably handsome--and I love you as woman never loved before. But I implore you to release me now--for--my mother might return to the room--and--and--Oh! Charles--you clasp me too violently----”