you
away, so that you believe all you say now; but I can assure you, you
are mistaken. You are impressionable, susceptible, but too young to
understand the real passion of love. At your age, young girls have
very often some little love affair with the engaging young dancer
they met at the last ball. You, who have been kept out of society on
account of the masculine education you had received, have known no
such temptations; but perhaps for this very reason you were the more
exposed to illusions of another kind, which I confess I ought to have
foreseen, namely, that of falling in love with the first gentleman
who showed you more than the usual attentions of common civility. I
happen to be this man. We have read several plays of Shakespeare
together. Every young girl may imagine herself a Juliet; but that
is no reason why she should imagine her teacher to be a Romeo. Now,
seriously, Francis, could you take me for your Romeo? Look at me,
and consider how ridiculous any such pretension on my part would
be. I am about the same age as your father; I am turning gray; I
should also be as stout, but for a disease which threatens me with
consumption. All this is far from poetic, is it not? Exercise your
reason, your good sense, and you will be the first to acknowledge
that I am most unfitted to become the hero of a love affair.'

"I was silent; I felt as if some one were pouring ice down my back. He
approached me, and laying his hand on my shoulder, with the greatest
gentleness said--

"'I was married one year before your father, and though I have no
children, I might have had a daughter of your age. I had accustomed
myself, gradually, to regard you as my own daughter; you deprive me
of this pleasure, for the present at least, though I am sure you will
one day recover from your folly. It is your head which is affected,
not your heart, believe me, for I have had experience in the depths of
abasement to which the passions may lead a woman who has not energy
enough to overcome them. If I had a son--I have only a nephew, who
will be heir to my title and property--and if----"

"'Thank you, my lord, I could never address you as my uncle!' and
I burst out in an hysterical laugh. There was a beautiful edition
of Shakespeare lying on the table, a present from him; I took it up
and tore it leaf from leaf, scattering them about the room. At the
same instant my maid knocked at the door; she came to remind me it
was time to dress for the