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“Did he?” said Lady Augusta. “I wonder who he is!”

Lord George soon satisfied her curiosity, for, coming up to them, he said negligently, “Dashwood, there’s young Mountague yonder.”

“Ha! is that young Mountague? Well, is his father dead? What has he done with that old quiz?”

“Ask him yourself,” said Lord George sullenly: “I asked him just now, and he looked as black as November.”

“He was so fond of his father–it is quite a bore,” said Dashwood. “I think he’ll be a quiz himself in due time.”

“No,” said Lord George; “he knows better than that too in some things. He has a monstrous fine horse with him here; and that’s a good pretty girl that he’s going to marry.”

“Is he going to be married to Miss Helen Temple?” said Lady S—-. “Who is he, pray? I hope a suitable match.”

“That I can’t tell, for I don’t know what she has,” replied Lord George. “But Mountague can afford to do as he pleases–very good family–fine fortune.”

“Yes; old quiz made an excellent nurse to his estate,” observed Dashwood; “he owes him some gratitude for that.”

“Is not he very young to settle in the world?” said Lady S—-.

“Young–yes–only a year older than I am,” said Lord George; “but I knew he’d never be quiet till he got himself noosed.”

“I suppose he’ll be at the ball to-night,” said Lady Augusta, “and then we shall see something of him, perhaps. It’s an age since we’ve seen the Miss Temples any where. I wonder whether there’s any thing more than report, my lord, in this conquest of Miss Helen Temple? Had you the thing from good authority?”

“Authority!” said Lord George; “I don’t recollect my authority, faith!–somebody said so to me, I think. It’s nothing to me, at any rate.” Lady Augusta’s curiosity, however, was not quite so easily satisfied as his lordship’s; she was resolved to study Mr. Mountague thoroughly at the ball; and her habitual disposition to coquetry, joined to a dislike of poor Helen, which originated whilst they were children, made her form a strong desire to rival Helen in the admiration of this young gentleman of–“very good family and fine fortune.” Her ladyship was just falling into a reverie upon this subject, when she was summoned to join the archeresses.

The prize was a silver arrow. The ladies were impatient to begin–the green was cleared. Some of the spectators took their seats on benches under the trees, whilst a party of gentlemen stood by, to supply the ladies with arrows. Three ladies shot, but widely from the mark; a fourth tried her skill, but no applause ensued; a fifth came forward, a striking figure, elegantly dressed, who, after a prelude of very becoming diffidence, drew her bow, and took aim in the most graceful attitude imaginable.

“Who is that beautiful creature?” exclaimed Mr. Mountague, with enthusiasm; and as the arrow flew from the bow, he started up, wishing it success.

“The nearest, by six inches, that has been shot yet,” cried Dashwood. “Here, sir! here!” said he to Mr. Mountague, who went up to examine the target, “this is Lady Augusta S—-‘s arrow, within the second circle, almost put out the bull’s eye!” The clamour of applause at length subsiding, several other arrows were shot, but none came near to Lady Augusta’s, and the prize was unanimously acknowledged to be hers.

The silver arrow was placed on high over the mark, and several gentlemen tried to reach it in vain: Mr. Mountague sprung from the ground with great activity, brought down the arrow, and presented it, with an air of gallantry, to the fair victor.

“My dear Helen,” said Emma to her sister, in a low voice, “you are not well.”

“I!” replied Helen, turning quickly: “why! can you think me so mean as to–“

“Hush, hush! you don’t consider how loud you are speaking.”

“Am I?” said Helen, alarmed, and lowering her tone; “but then, why did you say I was not well?”