ction. Then, turning to me, in a
diffident, half-appealing voice--"Lucy--"

"Well, I am at your side."

"Is my cousin Ginevra still at Madame Beck's?"

"Your cousin is still there; you must be longing to see her."

"No--not much."

"You want to invite her to spend another evening?"

"No... I suppose she still talks about being married?"

"Not to any one you care for."

"But of course she still thinks of Dr. Bretton? She cannot have changed
her mind on that point, because it was so fixed two months ago."

"Why, you know, it does not matter. You saw the terms on which they
stood."

"There was a little misunderstanding that evening, certainly; does she
seem unhappy?"

"Not she. To change the subject. Have you heard or seen nothing of, or
from. Graham during your absence?"

"Papa had letters from him once or twice about business, I think. He
undertook the management of some affair which required attention while
we were away. Dr. Bretton seems to respect papa, and to have pleasure
in obliging him."

"Yes: you met him yesterday on the boulevard; you would be able to
judge from his aspect that his friends need not be painfully anxious
about his health?"

"Papa seems to have thought with you. I could not help smiling. He is
not particularly observant, you know, because he is often thinking of
other things than what pass before his eyes; but he said, as Dr.
Bretton rode away, `Really it does a man good to see the spirit and
energy of that boy.' He called Dr. Bretton a boy; I believe he almost
thinks him so, just as he thinks me a little girl; he was not speaking
to me, but dropped that remark to himself. Lucy...."

Again fell the appealing accent, and at the same instant she left her
chair, and came and sat on the stool at my feet.

I liked her. It is not a declaration I have often made concerning my
acquaintance, in the course of this book: the reader will bear with it
for once. Intimate intercourse, close inspection, disclosed in Paulina
only what was delicate, intelligent, and sincere; therefore my regard
for her lay deep. An admiration more superficial might have been more
demonstrative; mine, however, was quiet.

"What have you to ask of Lucy?" said I; "be brave, and speak out"

But there was no courage in her eye; as it met mine, it fell; and there
was no coolness on her cheek--not a transient surface-blush, but a
gathering inward excitement raised its tint and its temperature.

"Lucy, I _do_ wish