"Well, she is not dark," returned Erle, desperately, "not a brunette, I mean; and she is not fair, like the other one, she has brown hair--yes, I am sure it is brown--and good features. Well, I suppose people call her exceedingly handsome, and she dresses well, and holds herself well, and is altogether a pleasant sort of young woman." Fay's lips curled disdainfully. "I do not think I admire your description much, sir. Plenty of go in her; well, who cares for that? and lights up well of an evening, as though she were a ball-room decoration; I think she seems a frivolous sort of creature." "Oh, no," replied Erle, eagerly, for this would not do at all. Fay's little satire fell very short of the truth. "You have not hit it off exactly; Lady Maltravers is frivolous, if you like--a mild edition of the renowned Mrs. Skewton, thinks of nothing but diamonds, and settlements, and all the vanities for which your worldly woman sells her soul. It is a great wonder that, with such an example before her eyes, Miss Selby is not as bad herself; but she is a wonderfully sensible girl, and never talks that sort of nonsense; why, she goes to early service, and looks after some poor people: not that she ever mentions these facts, for she is not a goody-goody sort at all." "Oh, no, she has too much go in her," returned Fay, calmly. "I was quite right when I said that she was an active young person; and now about the other one, Erle?" "Well," Erle began again, but this time he utterly broke down; for how was he to describe this girl with her beautiful frank mouth, and her soft smiling eyes; he had never found out their color at all; would Fay understand if he told her of the sprightliness and sweetness that, in his opinion, made Fern so peculiarly attractive to him. But, to his astonishment, Fay grasped the whole situation in a moment. "Oh, you need not tell me, you poor boy," she said, with a knowing nod of her head; "so it is not the young lady with the go in her, though she does dance like a bird; it is this other one with the fair hair and the pretty smile." "How do you know, you little witch?" returned Erle, staring at her with an honest boyish blush on his face; "do you know that Miss Trafford is poor; that she makes her own gowns, and teaches the vicar's little girls; and that Miss Selby, of whom you speak so rudely, is niece to a countess?" "Well, what of that?" responded Fay, scornfully; "if your lady-love be poor, Erle, you are rich enough for both;" but he interrupted her with an alarmed air. "That is the worst of chattering to a woman," he said, in a lofty way. "If you give them an inch, they take an ell; who said I was in love with either of them? Do you know my uncle has spoken to me about Miss Selby: he says she is a fine girl and after his own heart; and he has given me a strong hint that an engagement with her will be greatly for my interest." But Fay turned a deaf ear to all this.