“My dear Hilary, every body has their peculiarities; yours is to be haunted with the idea that every body is doing something improper, unless they will proclaim their deeds at the market cross.” “What is clandestine must be wrong,” said Hilary, decidedly. “But can you not comprehend, my dear young friend, that there is a difference between secrecy and improper concealment? It is not necessary to publish every thing one knows, neither is it wrong to avoid some topics. Even to a father there may be things which it is better not to repeat; there may be subjects concealed from the best of motives.” “This is all very true, perhaps, but the difference between discretion and dissimulation is positive, Dora. If you feel sure that when he knows your conduct he will approve it, and consider your secrecy was justifiable and proper, you may venture to practice it, I suppose, without fear.” Dora was silent. “Neither is it fair to Maurice,” continued Hilary; “you are misleading him; I do not blame you for learning to prefer another, but――” “No,” interrupted Dora, “you could hardly do that, at least with justice, since it is not the case.” “Dora, you deceive yourself, surely; your manners to Mr. Ufford――” “Dear Hilary, don’t tell me my manners encourage _him_,” cried she, rather alarmed; “I assure you I do not mean it in the least; but what can I do? He is so gentle and amiable, I can not be cross to him, and you would not have me rude, I am sure; so then I turn round and flirt with Mr. Huyton to get rid of the other, and you look at me with such fault-finding eyes: are you jealous, Hilary, it is that? I believe Mr. Huyton loves you all the time. Oh, Hilary! what a blush, my dear girl! you are jealous, then: what will Captain Hepburn say?” “If I did not know that you were talking all this nonsense merely to get rid of my remonstrances, I should be seriously displeased with such foolish language, Dora; as it is――” “As it is, Hilary, you must bear with me! I love Maurice, and Maurice only, but Mr. Huyton amuses me when I am dying of _ennui_; he is pleasant and clever, and I know well that he has no heart to bestow, to have any dread of entangling it. Do you think I have not seen how he loves you! how he follows you with his eyes, listens to your voice, even while he is talking to others; worships your shadow, and haunts your footsteps? I never could make out why you did not like him; for although I do not myself, I think you might suit him, and he you.” “All this has nothing to do with what I was talking of, Dora; you know Mr. Huyton is nothing to me; but while I retain any regard for you (and that must be always), I can not help wishing to prevent your doing wrong, and deceiving yourself and Maurice.” “Well, I will not deceive Mr. Ufford; I will tell him plainly my opinion the very first opportunity!”