“You must easily have read all my heart to-day,” Amy went on, trembling at her own temerity. “Paul’s letter, my hasty words this morning, my interest in his doings, my----” “Of course, of course,” said Phœbe, quite in a reassuring, comforting way: “you love Mr. Hammerton. There, don’t start, my dearest, like that. I _know_ you do, and why should you not?” Pale and trembling Amy looked for a moment at her friend, and the tears started into her eyes. “You must think me mad,” she said. “Indeed I do not, my pet,” said Phœbe, quite cheerfully, and kissing Amy again. “It is natural to love a fine, dashing fellow like Mr. Hammerton; quite natural in a high-spirited girl like you.” “It is madness, vanity, and everything that is weak,” said Amy. “Nonsense, nonsense, child!” Phœbe replied. “You are worthy the love of the finest gentleman in England.” “Ah, Phœbe! you and I know but little of the world. Mr. Hammerton is as far above me as a prince is above a peasant. I am foolish, wickedly foolish, to have permitted my liking to have got the better of my judgment.” “Why, I could almost venture to say Mr. Hammerton is in love with you as much as you are in love with him,” said Phœbe, cheerily. Amy shook her head sadly, as she thought of the difference between them in rank and station. “Bless me!” said Phœbe, divining her thoughts; “princes have married peasant-girls before now, and shall not an earl’s son--and only a younger son, remember--be proud of the love of a true and noble heart like yours?” Phœbe grew quite eloquent and enthusiastic. “Consult your favourite poet when we return, Amy, and read about King Cophetua.” “I need not ask you never to breathe a word of my silly confession to anyone at any time?” said Amy, now a little more like her former self. “Trust me,” said Phœbe, as she gathered up her hat and cloak, which had lain upon the table. “My feelings overcame me; but it is a relief now, even to have confided my weakness and vanity to you,” said Amy; and then the two impulsive beauties embraced each other again. “Humph!” said Mr. Richard Tallant, “I must have a hand in this pretty little business.” CHAPTER X. MR. RICHARD TALLANT INTERRUPTS A CHARMING TÊTE-À-TÊTE. “Ahem! pleasant occupation truly,” said Mr. Richard Tallant, planting himself in the centre of the summer-house doorway, and contemplating the ladies, who stared in astonishment at the apparition. “Any objection to take me into your embraces?” he went on, smiling, walking up to Miss Tallant, kissing her on the forehead, and bowing very politely to her companion. “Why, how long have you been standing there, Richard?” asked Miss Tallant, in some confusion. “Not long,” said Richard, fixing his eyes on Miss Somerton; “but long enough to be delighted at the charming picture of affection which you presented to the view.”