t know how--but I always feel a
wish to get out of his way when I see him approach.'

'You are timid, Milicent; but that's no fault of his.'

'And then his look,' continued she. 'People say he's handsome, and of
course he is; but I don't like that kind of beauty, and I wonder that you
should.'

'Why so, pray?'

'Well, you know, I think there's nothing noble or lofty in his
appearance.'

'In fact, you wonder that I can like any one so unlike the stilted heroes
of romance. Well, give me my flesh and blood lover, and I'll leave all
the Sir Herberts and Valentines to you--if you can find them.'

'I don't want them,' said she. 'I'll be satisfied with flesh and blood
too--only the spirit must shine through and predominate. But don't you
think Mr. Huntingdon's face is too red?'

'No!' cried I, indignantly. 'It is not red at all. There is just a
pleasant glow, a healthy freshness in his complexion--the warm, pinky
tint of the whole harmonising with the deeper colour of the cheeks,
exactly as it ought to do. I hate a man to be red and white, like a
painted doll, or all sickly white, or smoky black, or cadaverous yellow.'

'Well, tastes differ--but I like pale or dark,' replied she. 'But, to
tell you the truth, Helen, I had been deluding myself with the hope that
you would one day be my sister. I expected Walter would be introduced to
you next season; and I thought you would like him, and was certain he
would like you; and I flattered myself I should thus have the felicity of
seeing the two persons I like best in the world--except mamma--united in
one. He mayn't be exactly what you would call handsome, but he's far
more distinguished-looking, and nicer and better than Mr.
Huntingdon;--and I'm sure you would say so, if you knew him.'

'Impossible, Milicent! You think so, because you're his sister; and, on
that account, I'll forgive you; but nobody else should so disparage
Arthur Huntingdon to me with impunity.'

Miss Wilmot expressed her feelings on the subject almost as openly.

'And so, Helen,' said she, coming up to me with a smile of no amiable
import, 'you are to be Mrs. Huntingdon, I suppose?'

'Yes,' replied I. 'Don't you envy me?'

'Oh, dear, no!' she exclaimed. 'I shall probably be Lady Lowborough some
day, and then you know, dear, I shall be in a capacity to inquire, "Don't
you envy me?"'

'Henceforth I shall envy no one,' returned I.

'Indeed! Are you so happy then?' said she, thoughtfull