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“You may–you may,” interrupted the young man eagerly: “I will never betray your confidence–you might trust yourself to my honour and good faith–“

“I wish you would not be bringing yourself and myself constantly into the conversation,” said the lady, compressing her lips to conceal a smile; “we are talking of Charlotte Henley, and of her only. She was brought up in the daily habit of seeing much of George Morton, who, I believe, even you will own has a heart, for it will cost him his life.”

“His life!”

“I fear so; nay, it is without hope. The cold he took in carrying the poor sufferer to the hospital last winter has thrown him into a decline. I do believe that Charlotte Henley is fond of him; but mind, I do not say that she is in love–if appears to be less of passion than of intense affection.”

“Yes, such as she would feel for a brother.”

“She has no brother. I do not intend to define the passions: but I do believe that if he were to live and offer himself, she would marry him, and make him such a wife as any man might envy.”

“What! do you think she loves him unasked, and yet refuse me who begged her hand like her slave.”

“It is not unasked; he has known her all her life– has ever shown a preference for her–has been kind to her and to all others in her presence–he has long anticipated her wishes, in trifles, and–and–in short, he has done just what he ought to do, to gain her love.”

“Then you think I erred in the manner in which I made my advances?”

“Your advances, as you call them, would have succeeded with nine girls in ten, though not with Miss Henley–besides, you are too late.”

“Certainly not too late when no declaration had been made by any other.”

“I am not about to discuss the proprieties of courtship with you, Mr. Delafield,” cried Maria, laughing and rising from her chair. “Come, let us walk; it is a sin to shut ourselves up on such a morning. The subject must now he changed and the scene too.”

He accepted her challenge, and they proceeded through the streets together; but she evaded every subsequent attempt he made to renew the discourse. Perhaps she felt that she had gone too far–perhaps there was something in it that was painful to her own feelings.

The explanation, however, had a great tendency to destroy the remains of what Delafield mistook for love. Instead of having his affections seriously engaged in a short intercourse with Miss Henley, our readers may easily perceive that it was nothing but his imagination that was excited, and which had kept his brain filled with images still more lovely than the original: but now that the wan features of George Morton were constantly brought into the picture by the side of the deity he had worshipped, the contemplation of these fancied beauties become hourly less pleasant, and in a short time he ceased to dwell on the subject altogether.

A consequence, however, grew out of his short-lived inclination, that was as unlooked for by himself as by the others interested in the result. He became so much accustomed to the society of Maria Osgood, that at length he fell it was necessary to his comfort. To the surprise of the whole city, the handsome, rich, witty, and accomplished Mr. Seymour Delafield declared himself in form before the spring had expired to one of the plain daughters of Mr. Osgood, a man with a large family, and but little money. Maria had a difficult task to conceal the pleasure she felt, as she listened to, not the passionate declaration of her admirer, but to his warm solicitation that she would unite her destinies to his own. She did conceal it, however, and would only consent to receive his visits for a time, on the condition that he was not to consider her as at all engaged by the permission.