The Earl's reception was as warm as he had anticipated; and he then left in order to dress for dinner. Several guests besides himself were numbered at the table, and, of course, Lady Florence fell to the care of a young peer, and not to him; she sat a few paces from him on the same side,--just too far for him to address, and not too far for him to listen to. Her partner seemed to pay the most assiduous attentions, which were certainly, as far as he could judge, far from unacceptable, and he was not altogether sorry when the ladies left. When they rejoined them in the drawing-room, he was quite monopolized by his sister, whilst Lady Florence was disengaged; and when, at last, he got free, the same young man walked up to her, just before him, and kept up incessant flirtation. During the whole evening he but once addressed her, and only received a laughing repartee. Time wore on; Lady Florence was one of the earliest to retire, and by-and-by the visitors departed, and he too went to his room anything but pleased:--it seemed quite certain she had forgotten him. Next morning, at breakfast, he sat next her, and she seemed so like herself again his spirits quite rose; but during the rest of the day she hardly noticed him; and again he sought his couch thoroughly discontented. During the days he was of course carried off to the field by the Earl, who was a keen sportsman; and as a large shooting party gradually gathered at the Towers, his chances for a _tête-à-tête_ with Lady Florence grew more and more hopeless. He saw her the star of every drawing-room; she danced and laughed with him, and quite won him,--often thrice in an evening; and then he saw her treating some one else exactly the same; and at length came to the conclusion that she was a heartless flirt! The days hurried by, and soon he would have to say adieu! and sail for India. He tried to reason with himself, how he could be so foolish as to think the reigning belle of town and country, and daughter of an Earl, could deign to look on him, save as on any other young man. But love will not listen to reason,--and he loved! Yet he soon came to the sad conclusion, he would have to leave without even speaking to her on the subject; he would soon hear of her alliance with some noble family, and then he would throw his life away in the first brush with the enemy! All his high hopes of coming home a conquering hero, and receiving as his guerdon the hand of the lady of his choice seemed to "moulder cold and low!" When she saw his death, she would perhaps say, "Poor fellow!--he is gone at last!"--this all from one who had said she would be his wife:--oh, the thought was maddening! Those were her girlish vows,--unstable as the name traced on the sands,--so her vows were washed away by the stream of years! Oh, woman, thy faith is written on sand!