“Because Mr. Westbury thinks it proper that I should.” “And so you go to him, like miss to her papa and mamma to ask him what you must do?” said Mrs. Cunningham, laughing. “This is delightful, truly! But for my part, I cannot see why I have not as good a right to expect Edward to conform to my taste and wishes, as he has to expect me to conform to his. And so Westbury makes you go, whether you like to or not?” “No, indeed,” said Mrs. Westbury. “I never expressed to him my aversion to going, not wishing him to feel as if I were making a great sacrifice, in complying with his wishes.” “Well, that is pretty, and dutiful, and delicate,” said Mrs. Cunningham, laughing again. “But I don't set up for a _pattern_ wife, and if Edward and I get along as well as people in general, I shall be satisfied. But to turn to something else. How do you like Miss Eldon?” “I am not at all acquainted with her,” said Julia. “You have met her several times,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “Yes, but have never conversed with her. Her appearance is greatly in her favor; I think her very beautiful.” “She is called so,” said Mrs. Cunningham; “but some how I don't like her looks. To tell the plain truth, I can't endure her, she is so vain, and artful, and self-complacent.” “I have not the least acquaintance with her,” repeated Julia; “but it were a pity so lovely a face should not be accompanied by an amiable heart. Are _you_ much acquainted with her?” “Not personally. Indeed I never conversed with her for ten minutes in my life.” “Then you may be mistaken in thinking her vain and artful,” said Mrs. Westbury. “O, I've seen enough to satisfy me fully as to that point,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “When a young lady exerts herself to engross the attention of newly married men, and when she looks so self-satisfied at success, I want nothing more. She can have no delicacy of feeling—she must be a coquette of the worst kind.” It was now Mrs. Westbury's turn to change the subject of conversation, and simply remarking—“that we should be extremely careful how we judge of character hastily”—she asked some question that drove Miss Eldon from Mrs. Cunningham's mind. Soon after the visitor departed, and Julia returned to her chamber. * * * * * In the evening when Mr. Westbury came in, he found Julia reading, but she immediately laid down her book, and resumed her work. She thought it quite as impolite to pursue the solitary pleasure of reading while her husband was sitting by, as to have done so with any other companion; and she knew no reason why he was not as much entitled to civility as a stranger, or common acquaintance. It was not long before Mr. Westbury inquired “what book had engaged her attention.” It was Dr. Russel's Palestine. “It is a delightful work,” said Julia. “I have just read an extract from Chateaubriand, that I think one of the most elegant passages I ever met with.”