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“No, indeed, mother,” said Helen; “but I assure you, ma’am,” continued she, in a hurried manner, “if you would only give me leave to explain–“

“My dear child,” said Mrs. Temple, “this is no time for explanations: make haste and dress yourself, and follow me down to tea.” Mr. Mountague was engaged to drink tea with Mrs. Temple.

How many reflections sometimes pass rapidly in the mind in the course of a few minutes!

“I am weak, ridiculous, and unjust,” said Helen to herself. “Because Lady Augusta won a silver arrow, am I vexed? Why should I be displeased with Mr. Mountague’s admiring her? I will appear no more like a fool; and Heaven forbid I should become envious.”

As this last thought took possession of her mind, she finished dressing herself, and went with Emma down to tea. The well-wrought-up dignity with which Helen entered the parlour was, however, thrown away upon this occasion; for opposite to her mother at the tea-table there appeared, instead of Mr. Mountague, only an empty chair, and an empty teacup and saucer, with a spoon in it. He was gone to the ball; and when Mrs. Temple and her daughters arrived there, they found him at the bottom of the country dance, talking in high spirits to his partner, Lady Augusta, who, in the course of the evening, cast many looks of triumph upon Helen. But Helen kept to her resolution of commanding her own mind, and maintained an easy serenity of manner, which the consciousness of superior temper never fails to bestow. Towards the end of the night, she danced one dance with Mr. Mountague, and as he was leading her to her place, Lady Augusta, and two or three of her companions, came up, all seemingly stifling a laugh. “What is the matter?” said Helen. “Why, my dear creature,” said Lady Augusta, who still apparently laboured under a violent inclination to laugh, and whispering to Helen, but so loud that she could distinctly be overheard–“you must certainly be in love.”

“Madam!” said Helen, colouring, and much distressed.

“Yes; you certainly must,” pursued Lady Augusta, rudely; for ladies of quality can be as rude, sometimes ruder, than other people. “Must not she, Lady Di.,” appealing to one of her companions, and laughing affectedly–“must not she be either in love, or out of her senses? Pray, Miss Temple, put out your foot.” Helen put out her foot.

“Ay, that’s the black one–well, the other.” Now the other was white. The ill-bred raillery commenced. Helen, though somewhat abashed, smiled with great good humour, and walked on towards her seat. “What is the matter, my dear?” said her mother.

“Nothing, madam,” answered Mr. Mountague, “but that Miss Helen Temple’s shoes are odd, and her temper–even.” These few words, which might pass in a ball-room, were accompanied with a look of approbation, which made her ample amends for the pain she had felt. He then sat down by Mrs. Temple, and, without immediately adverting to any one, spoke with indignation of coquetry, and lamented that so many beautiful girls should be spoiled by affectation.

“If they be spoiled, should they bear all the blame?” said Mrs. Temple. “If young women were not deceived into a belief that affectation pleases, they would scarcely trouble themselves to practise it so much.”

“Deceived!” said Mr. Mountague–“but is any body deceived by a person’s saying, ‘I have the honour to be, madam, your obedient, humble servant?’ Besides, as to pleasing–what do we mean? pleasing for a moment, for a day, or for life?”

“Pleasing for a moment,” said Helen, smiling, “is of some consequence; for, if we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves, you know.”

“Pleasing for one moment, though,” said Mr. Mountague, “is very different, as you must perceive, from pleasing every moment.”

Here the country dance suddenly stopped, and three or four couple were thrown into confusion. The gentlemen were stooping down, as if looking for something on the floor. “Oh, I beg, I insist upon it; you can’t think how much you distress me!” cried a voice which sounded like Lady Augusta’s. Mr. Mountague immediately went to see what was the matter. “It is only my bracelet,” said she, turning to him. “Don’t, pray don’t trouble yourself,” cried she, as he stooped to assist in collecting the scattered pearls, which she received with grace in the whitest hand imaginable. “Nay, now I must insist upon it,” said she to Mr. Mountague, as he stooped again–“you shall not plague yourself any longer.” And in her anxiety to prevent him from plaguing himself any longer, she laid upon his arm the white hand, which he had an instant before so much admired. Whether all Mr. Mountague’s sober contempt of coquetry was, at this moment, the prevalent feeling in his mind, we cannot presume to determine; we must only remark, that the remainder of the evening was devoted to Lady Augusta; he sat beside her at supper, and paid her a thousand compliments, which Helen in vain endeavoured to persuade herself meant nothing more than–“I am, madam, your obedient, humble servant.”