nd teeth, a showy figure, and all the ladies of Screwstown
pronounced her dress to be perfect. She might have arriven at that age
at which one intends to stop for the next ten years, but even a
Frenchman would not have called her _passee_--that is, for a widow. For
a spinster, it would have been different.

Looking round her with a glass, which Mrs. Pompley was in the habit of
declaring that "Mrs. M'Catchley used like an angel," this lady suddenly
perceived Leonard Avenel; and his quiet, simple, thoughtful air and
looks so contrasted with the stiff beaux to whom she had been presented,
that experienced in fashion as so fine a personage must be supposed to
be, she was nevertheless deceived into whispering to Mrs. Pompley--

"That young man has really an _air distingue_--who is he?"

"Oh," said Mrs. Pompley, in unaffected surprise, "that is the nephew of
the rich Vulgarian I was telling you of this morning."

"Ah! and you say that he is Mr. Arundel's heir?"

"Avenel--not Arundel--my sweet friend."

"Avenel is not a bad name," said Mrs. M'Catchley. "But is the uncle
really so rich?"

"The Colonel was trying this very day to guess what he is worth; but he
says it is impossible to guess it."

"And the young man is his heir?"

"It is thought so: and reading for College, I hear. They say he is
clever."

"Present him, my love; I like clever people," said Mrs. M'Catchley,
falling back, languidly.

About ten minutes afterward, Richard Avenel, having effected his escape
from the Colonel, and his gaze being attracted toward the sofa table by
the buzz of the admiring crowd, beheld his nephew in animated
conversation with the long-cherished idol of his dreams. A fierce pang
of jealousy shot through his breast. His nephew had never looked so
handsome and so intelligent; in fact, poor Leonard had never before been
drawn out by a woman of the world, who had learned how to make the most
of what little she knew. And, as jealousy operates like a pair of
bellows on incipient flames, so, at first sight of the smile which the
fair widow bestowed upon Leonard, the heart of Mr. Avenel felt in a
blaze.

He approached with a step less assured than usual, and, overhearing
Leonard's talk, marveled much at the boy's audacity. Mrs. M'Catchley had
been speaking of Scotland and the Waverley Novels, about which Leonard
knew nothing. But he knew Burns, and on Burns he grew artlessly
eloquent. Burns the poet and peasant; Leonard might well