and more refined
excellencies of the other?

Bonville had become the admirer of Alida; of course he and Theodore
sometimes met. He had made no serious pretensions, but his particularity
indicated something more than fashionable politeness. His manners, his
independent situation, entitled him to respect. "It is not probable,
therefore, that he will be objectionable to her friends, or to Alida
herself," said Theodore, with an involuntary sigh, and as his visits
became more frequent, an increasing anxiety took place in his bosom. He
wished her to remain single; the idea of losing her by marriage, gave
him inexpressible regret. What substitute could supply to him the happy
hours he had passed in her company? What charm could wing the lingering
moments when she was gone?

How different would be the scene when debarred from the unreserved
friendship and conversation of Alida. And unreserved it could not be,
were she not exclusively mistress of herself. But was there not
something of a more refined texture than friendship in his predilection
for the company of Alida? If so, why not avow it? His prospects, his
family, and of course his pretensions might not be inferior to those of
Bonville.

But perhaps he was preferred. His opportunities: his prior acquaintance
with the lady. Distance was no barrier to his addresses. His visits
became more and more frequent. Was it not then highly probable that he
had gained her affections?

Thus reasoned Theodore, but the reasoning tended not to allay the
tempest that was gathering in his bosom. He ordered his carriage, and
was in a short time at the seat of Alida's father. It was summer, and
towards evening when he arrived. Alida was sitting by the window when he
entered the hall. She arose and received him with a smile. I have just
been thinking of an evening's walk, said she, but had no one to attend
me, and you have come just in time to perform that office. I will order
tea immediately, while you rest from the fatigues of your journey.

When tea was served up, a servant entered the room with a letter which
he had found in the yard. Alida received it. "'Tis a letter," said she,
which I sent by Bonville to a lady in the village, and the careless man
has lost it. Turning to Theodore, I forgot to tell you, that your friend
Bonville has been with us a few days; he left us this morning. "My
friend," replied Theodore, hastily. "Is he not your friend?" inquired
Alida. "I beg pardon, madam,"