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“Because you looked so pale.”

“Pale! I’m sure I don’t look pale,” said Helen–“do I?”

“Not now, indeed,” said Emma, smiling.

“Was not it an excellent shot?” said Mr. Mountague, returning to them; “but you were not near enough to see it; do come and look at it.” Mrs. Temple rose and followed him.–“I can’t say,” continued he, “that I particularly admire lady archeresses; but this really is a surprising shot.”

“It really is a surprising shot,” said Helen, looking at it quite at ease. But a moment afterwards she observed that Mr. Mountague’s eyes were not intent upon the surprising shot, but were eagerly turned to another side of the green, where, illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, stood a beautiful figure, playing with a silver arrow, totally unconscious, as he imagined, either of her own charms or his admiration.–“Are you acquainted with Lady Augusta?” said Mr. Mountague.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Temple. “Are you?”

“Not yet; but I have met her mother often in town–a silly, card-playing woman. I hope her daughter is as little like her in her mind as in her person.” Here Mr. Mountague paused, for they had walked up quite close to the seemingly unconscious beauty.–“Oh, Mrs. Temple!” said she, starting, and then recovering herself, with an innocent smile–“is it you? I beg ten thousand pardons,” and, offering a hand to Helen and Emma, seemed delighted to see them. Helen involuntarily drew back her hand, with as much coldness as she could without being absolutely rude.

It was now late in the evening, and as the ball was to begin at ten, the ladies called for their carriages, that they might drive to their lodgings, in an adjacent town, to change their dress. In the crowd, Helen happened to be pretty close behind Lady S—-, so close, that she could not avoid hearing her conversation.

“Dear ma’am!” an elderly lady in black was saying to her, “I can assure you, your ladyship has been misinformed. I assure you, it is no such thing. He’s a relation of the family–he has paid a long visit in this country, but then it is a parting visit to his uncle: he sets out immediately for Italy, I’m told. I assure you, your ladyship has been misinformed; he and his uncle are often at Mrs. Temple’s; but depend upon it he has no thoughts of Miss Helen.”

These words struck Helen to the heart: she walked on, leaning upon her sister’s arm, who fortunately happened to know where she was going. Emma helped her sister to recollect that it was necessary to get into the carriage when the step was let down. The carriage presently stopped with them at the inn, and they were shown to their rooms. Helen sat down, the moment she got up stairs, without thinking of dressing; and her mother’s hair was half finished, when she turned round and said, “Why, Helen, my dear! you certainly will not be ready.”

“Shan’t I, ma’am?” said Helen, starting up. “Is there any occasion that we should dress any more?”

“Nay, my dear,” said Mrs. Temple, laughing, “look in the glass at your hair; it has been blown all over your face by the wind.”

“It is a great deal of useless trouble,” said Helen, as she began the duties of the toilette.

“Why, Helen, this is a sudden fit of laziness,” said her mother.

“No, indeed, mamma; I’m not lazy. But I really don’t think it signifies. Nobody will take notice how I am dressed, I dare say.”

“A sudden fit of humility, then?” said Mrs. Temple, still laughing.

“No, ma’am; but you have often told us how little it signifies. When the ball is over, every thing about it is forgotten in a few hours.”

“Oh, a sudden fit of philosophy, Helen?”

“No, indeed, mother,” said Helen, sighing; “I’m sure I don’t pretend to any philosophy.”

“Well, then, a sudden fit of caprice, Helen?”

“No, indeed, ma’am!”

“No, indeed, ma’am!” said Mrs. Temple, still rallying her.–Why, Helen, my dear, you have answered ‘No, indeed, ma’am,’ to every thing I’ve said this half hour.”