e had absolutely not seen him since his
return! The little damsel missed homage!

'You are not heeding me!' exclaimed Jane at last.

'Yes; I beg your pardon, ma'am--'

'Charlotte, take care. Mind me, one thing at a time,' said Jane,
oracularly. 'Not one eye here, the other there!'

'I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Beckett.'

'Come, don't colour up, and say you don't know nothing! Why did you
water your lemon plant three times over, but that you wanted to be
looking out of window? Why did you never top nor tail the gooseberries
for the pudding, but sent them up fit to choke my poor missus? If
Master Jem hadn't--Bless me! what was I going to say?--but we should
soon have heard of it! No, no, Charlotte; I've been a mother to you
ever since you came here, a little starveling thing, and I'll speak
plain for your good. If you fancy that genteel butler in there, say so
downright; but first sit down, and write away a letter to give up the
other young man!'

Charlotte's cheeks were in a flame, and something vehement at the end
of her tongue, when, with a gentle knock, and 'By your favour, ladies,'
in walked Mr. Delaford.

Jane was very civil, but very stiff at first, till he thawed her by
great praise of Lord Fitzjocelyn, the mere prelude to his own
magnificent exploits.

Charlotte listened like a very Desdemona. He was very pathetic, and
all that was not self-exaltation was aimed at her. Nothing could have
been more welcome than the bullets to penetrate his heart, and he
turned up his eyes in a feeling manner.

Charlotte's heart was exceedingly touched, and she had tears in her
eyes when she moved forward in the attitude of the porcelain
shepherdess in the parlour, to return a little volume of selections of
tender poetry, bound in crimson silk, that he had lent to her some time
since. 'Would she not honour him by accepting a trifling gift?'

She blushed, she accepted; and with needle-like pen, in characters fine
as hair, upon a scroll garlanded with forget-me-nots, and borne in mid
air by two portly doves, was Charlotte Arnold's name inscribed by the
hero of the barricades.

Oh, vanity! vanity! how many garbs dost thou wear!

Delaford went away, satisfied that he had produced an impression such
as he could improve if they should ever be thrown together again.

The Lady of Eschalott remained anything but satisfied. She was touchy
and fretful, found everything a grievance, left cobwebs in the