Whether it were that spirit of contradiction which is said to possess the breast of woman, or any other more respectable feeling, it may be difficult to decide, but it is certain that the less Rosalind appeared disposed to speak of the adventure of yesterday, the more desirous did Henrietta feel to lead her to it. "You were somewhat disappointed, I fancy, Miss Torrington," said she, "to discover that though you had contrived to banish the conventicle from the house, it had raised its voice in the grounds." "Indeed I was," replied Rosalind. "I rather think that you are addicted to speaking truth--and perhaps you pique yourself upon it," resumed Miss Cartwright. "Will you venture to tell me what you think of the scene you witnessed?" "You are not the person I should most naturally have selected as the confidant of my opinions respecting Mr. Cartwright," said Rosalind; "but since you put the question plainly I will answer it plainly, and confess that I suspect him not only of wishing to inculcate his own Calvinistic doctrines on the mind of Fanny Mowbray, but moreover, notwithstanding his disproportionate age, of gaining her affections." "Her affections?" repeated Henrietta. "And with what view do you imagine he is endeavouring to gain her affections?" "Doubtless with a view to making her his wife; though, to be sure, the idea is preposterous." "Sufficiently. Pray, Miss Torrington, has Miss Fanny Mowbray an independent fortune?" "None whatever. Like the rest of the family, she is become by the death of her father entirely dependent upon Mrs. Mowbray." "Your fortune is entirely at your own disposal, I believe." Rosalind looked provoked at the idle turn Miss Cartwright was giving to a conversation which, though she had not led to it, interested her deeply. "Do not suspect me of impertinence," said Henrietta in a tone more gentle than ordinary. "But such is the case, is it not?" "Yes, Miss Cartwright," was Rosalind's grave reply. "Then, do you know that I think it infinitely more probable Mr. Cartwright may have it in contemplation to make you his wife." "I beg your pardon, Miss Cartwright," said Rosalind, "but I really thought that you were speaking of your father seriously; and it seems you are disposed to punish me for imagining you would do so, to one so nearly a stranger." "I never jest on any subject," replied the melancholy-looking girl, knitting her dark brows into a frown of such austerity as almost made Rosalind tremble. "A reasoning being who has nothing to hope among the realities on this side the grave, and hopes nothing on the other, is not very likely to be jocose." "Good Heavens! Miss Cartwright," exclaimed Rosalind, "what dreadful language is this? Are you determined to prove to me that there may be opinions and doctrines more terrible still than those of your father?"