ess had wished to take up their abode on
earth, they could not have found a fairer form wherein to dwell. As St.
Eval gazed upon the animated girl, he could not help contrasting her
innocent and light-hearted pleasure with his own unmitigated sorrow.

"Your presence and your joy are mistimed, my dear Emmeline; your father
appears engaged," said Mrs. Hamilton, entering almost directly after her
child, and perceiving by one glance at her husband's face that
something had chanced to disturb him. "Control these wild spirits for a
time till he is able to listen to you."

"Do not check her, my dear Emmeline, I am not particularly engaged. If
St. Eval will forgive me, I would gladly hear some news of our dear
Mary."

"And pray let me hear it also. You know how interested I am in this dear
friend of yours, Emmeline," replied St. Eval, struggling with himself,
and succeeding sufficiently to speak playfully; for he and Emmeline had
contrived to become such great allies and intimate friends, that by some
sympathy titles of ceremony were seldom used between them, and they were
Eugene and Emmeline to each other, as if they were indeed brother and
sister.

Laughingly and delightedly Emmeline imparted the contents of her letter,
which afforded real pleasure both to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, by the more
cheerful, even happier style in which she had written.

"Now do you not think I ought to be proud of my friend, Master Eugene?
is she not one worth having?" demanded Emmeline, sportively appealing to
the young Earl, as she read to her father some of Mary's affectionate
expressions and wishes in the conclusion.

"So much so, that I am seized with an uncontrollable desire to know her,
and if you will only give me a letter of introduction, I will set off
for Geneva next week."

Emmeline raised her laughing eyes to his face, with an expression of
unfeigned amazement.

"A most probable circumstance," she said, laughing; "no, Lord St. Eval,
you will not impose thus on my credulity. Eugene St. Eval, the most
courted, flattered, and distinguished, leave London before the season
is over--impossible."

"I thank you for the pretty compliments you are showering on me, my
little fairy friend, but it is nevertheless true. I leave England for
the Continent next week, and I may as well bend my wandering steps to
Geneva as elsewhere."

"But what can you possibly be going on the Continent again for? I am
sure, by all the anecdotes you have told