"Oh, yes!" said Philippa; "they could not very well get on without me. In the first place, Bel and myself are to get every thing ready; I mean at Shadynook. As to the invitations, and all the externals, they are intrusted to that handsome gentleman yonder, who is devouring Bel with his eyes! Can't you see him?" added Philippa, with a merry laugh; "poor fellow he is deeply in love----" "And that you think very ridiculous?" "Indeed, no. I can imagine no greater compliment, and no larger happiness, than to be sincerely loved by a true and honest gentleman." Mowbray looked at her sadly, but with a smile. "There are very many honest gentlemen," he said. "Yes, but they do not love everybody," said Philippa; "and that for a very good reason." "What?" The young girl laughed. "Because they love themselves so much," she said. "Gallant Adonises! they think themselves handsome, nay, more lovely than all the maidens in the world!" Mowbray caught the infectious mirth of the young girl, and smiled. Poor Mowbray! where were all his mighty resolutions--his fair promises--his determination to remain an iceberg in presence of this haughty young girl? He was falling more deeply in love with her every moment. "You are very severe upon the fine gentlemen," he said; "I think your picture is the exception." "No, no! the rule! the rule!" she went on laughing. "Just look at them yonder. See how they smile and simper, and press their hands to their hearts, and daintily arrange their drop curls! I would as soon be loved by a lay-figure!" And Philippa burst into a fit of merry laughter. "Look!" she said; "see that ridiculous young gentleman near the door, with the velvet breast-knot--think of a velvet breast-knot! See how he daintily helps himself to snuff from a box with a picture of Madame Pompadour, or some celebrated lady, upon the lid; and see his jewelled hand, his simpering face, his languid air, his affected drawl as he murmurs, 'Ah--yes--madam--very--warm--but a charming--spectacle.' On my word! I would always provide myself with a bottle of _sal volatile_ when such gentlemen came to see me!" Mowbray found himself growing positively happy. Not only were his spirits raised by the young girl's merry and good-humored conversation, but every word which she uttered made his heart thrill more and more. All her discourse, all her satire upon the butterflies of the ball-room, had originated in the discussion of what character was proper for a lover. She scouted the idea of the love of one of these idlers attracting for a moment the regard of an intelligent woman: then was it not a just conclusion, that she looked for character, and dignity, and activity? She pointed to his own opposite, in grotesque colors, and laughed at her picture: then did she not find something to like in himself? Could she ever love him? And Mowbray's cheek flushed--his strong frame was agitated.