rwick's desperate attack of illness--heart!--and of his having no
relative or friend to soothe his pillow,--he is lying in absolute
loneliness,--she offered to go and nurse him! Of course it could not be
done. It is not her place. The beauty of the character of a dear innocent
young girl, with every gratification at command, who could make the
offer, strikes me as unparalleled. She was perfectly sincere--she is
sincerity. She asked at once, Where is he? She wished me to accompany her
on a first visit. I saw a tear.'

Redworth had called at Lady Wathin's for information of the state of Mr.
Warwick, concerning which a rumour was abroad. No stranger to the vagrant
compassionateness of sentimentalists;--rich, idle, conscience-pricked or
praise-catching;--he was unmoved by the tale that Miss Asper had proposed
to go to Mr. Warwick's sick-bed in the uniform of a Sister of
Charity.--'Speaking French!' Lady Wathin exclaimed; and his head rocked,
as he said:

'An Englishman would not be likely to know better.'

'She speaks exquisite French--all European languages, Mr. Redworth. She
does not pretend to wit. To my thinking, depth of sentiment is a far more
feminine accomplishment. It assuredly will be found a greater treasure.'

The modest man (modest in such matters) was led by degrees to fancy
himself sounded regarding Miss Asper: a piece of sculpture glacially
decorative of the domestic mansion in person, to his thinking; and as to
the nature of it--not a Diana, with all her faults!

If Diana had any faults, in a world and a position so heavily against
her! He laughed to himself, when alone, at the neatly implied bitter
reproach cast on the wife by the forsaken young lady, who proposed to
nurse the abandoned husband of the woman bereaving her of the man she
loved. Sentimentalists enjoy these tricks, the conceiving or the doing of
them--the former mainly, which are cheaper, and equally effective. Miss
Asper might be deficient in wit; this was a form of practical wit,
occasionally exhibited by creatures acting on their instincts. Warwick he
pitied, and he put compulsion on himself to go and see the poor fellow,
the subject of so sublime a generosity. Mr. Warwick sat in an arm-chair,
his legs out straight on the heels, his jaw dragging hollow cheeks, his
hands loosely joined; improving in health, he said. A demure woman of
middle age was in attendance. He did not speak of his wife. Three times
he said disconnectedly, 'I hear r