he was my companion during the remainder of my
stay, which was not long, for my aunt, as usual, insisted upon an early
departure.

I was sorry to go, for I had found my new acquaintance a very lively and
entertaining companion. There was a certain graceful ease and freedom
about all he said and did, that gave a sense of repose and expansion to
the mind, after so much constraint and formality as I had been doomed to
suffer. There might be, it is true, a little too much careless boldness
in his manner and address, but I was in so good a humour, and so grateful
for my late deliverance from Mr. Boarham, that it did not anger me.

'Well, Helen, how do you like Mr. Boarham now?' said my aunt, as we took
our seats in the carriage and drove away.

'Worse than ever,' I replied.

She looked displeased, but said no more on that subject.

'Who was the gentleman you danced with last,' resumed she, after a
pause--'that was so officious in helping you on with your shawl?'

'He was not officious at all, aunt: he never attempted to help me till he
saw Mr. Boarham coming to do so; and then he stepped laughingly forward
and said, "Come, I'll preserve you from that infliction."'

'Who was it, I ask?' said she, with frigid gravity.

'It was Mr. Huntingdon, the son of uncle's old friend.'

'I have heard your uncle speak of young Mr. Huntingdon. I've heard him
say, "He's a fine lad, that young Huntingdon, but a bit wildish, I
fancy." So I'd have you beware.'

'What does "a bit wildish" mean?' I inquired.

'It means destitute of principle, and prone to every vice that is common
to youth.'

'But I've heard uncle say he was a sad wild fellow himself, when he was
young.'

She sternly shook her head.

'He was jesting then, I suppose,' said I, 'and here he was speaking at
random--at least, I cannot believe there is any harm in those laughing
blue eyes.'

'False reasoning, Helen!' said she, with a sigh.

'Well, we ought to be charitable, you know, aunt--besides, I don't think
it is false: I am an excellent physiognomist, and I always judge of
people's characters by their looks--not by whether they are handsome or
ugly, but by the general cast of the countenance. For instance, I should
know by your countenance that you were not of a cheerful, sanguine
disposition; and I should know by Mr. Wilmot's, that he was a worthless
old reprobate; and by Mr. Boarham's, that he was not an agreeable
companion; and by Mr. Huntingdon's, tha