e had taken from my Scrap
Book, descriptive of the very scene before her, written the preceding
summer for Effie, after a moonlight ramble together. The poetry was
quite impassioned; and I heard Kate murmur with a sigh, as she turned
away after concluding her quotation, as if sick at heart, "Ah! I would
give years of brilliant success for one hour of devotion from such a
lover."

No one heard her but Lucien and myself--and I was one listener more
than she would have desired; for Lucien's ear alone was the
ejaculation intended, the good for nothing little flirt. It produced
the intended effect, for I saw Lucien watching her with admiring
interest. She noted the impression, and cunningly kept it up. There
was such a contrast between Effie and Kate, rather to Effie's
disadvantage, I had to confess, and Kate's affected expressions of
intense feeling, rather served to heighten Effie's natural coldness of
manner. Why waste words--the conclusion is already divined. The
coquette succeeded--and ere a week had passed Lucien was her
infatuated, devoted admirer; Effie was quite forgotten. Lucien's two
friends, wretched, and completely maddened by the cool, contemptuous
rejections they received from Kate, left Stamford, vowing eternal
hatred for womankind, and uttering deep, dire denunciations against
all coquettes, leaving the field open to Lucien, who seemed to have
perfectly lost all sense of propriety in his infatuation. Effie looked
on as calmly and quietly as though she were not particularly
interested. I fancied, for the credit of romance and sentiment, that
her cheek was paler; and I thought I could detect at times a trembling
of her delicate lips--but she said not a word. Mrs. Morris and I
displayed much more feeling; but what could we do--and half amused,
half vexed, we watched the conduct of the naughty little flirt.
Suddenly Kate received a summons home--and right glad I was to hear of
it. She announced it to us one evening, saying she expected her father
the next day. The following afternoon she came over to our cottage,
accompanied with two middle-aged gentlemen. The elder of the two was
Mr. Barclay, her father, who had known Mrs. Morris in early life; the
other she introduced as Col. Paulding, a friend. Col. Paulding's
manner struck us with surprise. He called her "Kate;" and though
dignified, was affectionate. She seemed painfully embarrassed, and
anxious to terminate the visit. She answered our questions hurriedly,