not pretend to understand any thing of these high-flown
sentiments, niece; you have all that glory to yourself: I would teach
you a little plain sense, and not have you so wise as to despise
happiness.'

'That would indeed not be wisdom, but folly,' said Emily, 'for wisdom
can boast no higher attainment than happiness; but you will allow,
Madam, that our ideas of happiness may differ. I cannot doubt, that you
wish me to be happy, but I must fear you are mistaken in the means of
making me so.'

'I cannot boast of a learned education, niece, such as your father
thought proper to give you, and, therefore, do not pretend to understand
all these fine speeches about happiness. I must be contented to
understand only common sense, and happy would it have been for you and
your father, if that had been included in his education.'

Emily was too much shocked by these reflections on her father's memory,
to despise this speech as it deserved.

Madame Montoni was about to speak, but Emily quitted the room, and
retired to her own, where the little spirit she had lately exerted
yielded to grief and vexation, and left her only to her tears. From
every review of her situation she could derive, indeed, only new sorrow.
To the discovery, which had just been forced upon her, of Montoni's
unworthiness, she had now to add, that of the cruel vanity, for the
gratification of which her aunt was about to sacrifice her; of the
effrontery and cunning, with which, at the time that she meditated the
sacrifice, she boasted of her tenderness, or insulted her victim; and of
the venomous envy, which, as it did not scruple to attack her father's
character, could scarcely be expected to withhold from her own.

During the few days that intervened between this conversation and the
departure for Miarenti, Montoni did not once address himself to Emily.
His looks sufficiently declared his resentment; but that he should
forbear to renew a mention of the subject of it, exceedingly surprised
her, who was no less astonished, that, during three days, Count Morano
neither visited Montoni, or was named by him. Several conjectures arose
in her mind. Sometimes she feared that the dispute between them had been
revived, and had ended fatally to the Count. Sometimes she was inclined
to hope, that weariness, or disgust at her firm rejection of his suit
had induced him to relinquish it; and, at others, she suspected that
he had now recourse to stratagem, and forbore his