n all, evidently to the
satisfaction of her, to win whose praise I would gladly have risked my
life.

"There," said I, as I placed my fair friend before a delicious little
madonna of Carl Dolci--"there is, perhaps, the triumph of colouring--for
the downy softness of that cheek--the luscious depth of that blue eye
--the waving richness of those sunny locks, all is perfect--fortunately so
beautiful a head is not a monopoly, for he painted many copies of this
picture."

"Quite true," said a voice behind, "and mine at Elton is, I think, if
anything, better than this."

I turned, and beheld my good old uncle, Sir Guy, who was standing beside
Lady Callonby. While I welcomed my worthy relative, I could not help
casting a glance around to see if Guy were also there, and not perceiving
him, my heart beat freely again.

My uncle, it appeared, had just arrived, and lost no time in joining us
at the gallery. His manner to me was cordial to a degree; and I
perceived that, immediately upon being introduced to Lady Jane, he took
considerable pains to observe her, and paid her the most marked
attention.

The first moment I could steal unnoticed, I took the opportunity of
asking if Guy were come. That one fact were to me all, and upon the
answer to my question, I hung with deep anxiety.

"Guy here!--no, not yet. The fact is, Harry, my boy, Guy has not got on
here as well as I could have wished. Everything had been arranged among
us--Callonby behaved most handsomely--and, as far as regarded myself, I
threw no impediment in the way. But still, I don't know how it was, but
Guy did not advance, and the matter now"--

"Pray, how does it stand? Have you any hopes to put all to rights
again?"

"Yes, Harry, I think, with your assistance, much may be done."

"Oh, count upon me by all means," said I, with a sneering bitterness,
that my uncle could not have escaped remarking, had his attention not
been drawn off by Lady Callonby.

What have I done--what sin did I meditate before I was born, that I
should come into the world branded with failure in all I attempt? Is it
not enough that my cousin, my elder by some months, should be rich while
I am poor--honoured and titled, while I am unknown and unnoticed?--but is
he also to be preferred to me in every station in life? Is there no
feeling of the heart so sacred that it must not succumb to primogeniture?

"What a dear old man Sir Guy is," said Catherine, interrupting my sad
re