o whom he was indeed sincerely attached, and which gratified
all those worldly feelings from which Mr. Temple was naturally not
exempt. In such an alliance Mr. Temple recognised the only mode by which
his daughter's complete recovery could be secured. Lord Montfort in
himself offered everything which it would seem that the reasonable fancy
of woman could desire. He was young, handsome, amiable, accomplished,
sincere, and exceedingly clever; while, at the same time, as Mr.
Temple was well aware, his great position would insure that reasonable
gratification of vanity from which none are free, which is a fertile
source of happiness, and which would, at all times, subdue any bitter
recollections which might occasionally arise to cloud the retrospect of
his daughter.

It was Mr. Temple, who, exerting all the arts of his abandoned
profession, now indulging in intimations and now in panegyric,
conveying to his daughter, with admirable skill, how much the intimate
acquaintance with Lord Montfort contributed to his happiness, gradually
fanning the feeling of gratitude to so kind a friend, which already had
been excited in his daughter's heart, into one of zealous regard, and
finally seizing his opportunity with practised felicity, it was Mr.
Temple who had at length ventured to communicate to his daughter the
overture which had been confided to him.

Henrietta shook her head.

'I have too great a regard for Lord Montfort to accede to his wishes,'
said Miss Temple. 'He deserves something better than a bruised spirit,
if not a broken heart.'

'But, my dearest Henrietta, you really take a wrong, an impracticable
view of affairs. Lord Montfort must be the best judge of what will
contribute to his own happiness.'

'Lord Montfort is acting under a delusion,' replied Miss Temple. 'If he
knew all that had occurred he would shrink from blending his life with
mine.'

'Lord Montfort knows everything,' said the father, 'that is, everything
he should know.'

'Indeed!' said Miss Temple. 'I wonder he does not look upon me with
contempt; at the least, with pity.'

'He loves you, Henrietta,' said her father.

'Ah! love, love, love! name not love to me. No, Lord Montfort cannot
love me. It is not love that he feels.'

'You have gained his heart, and he offers you his hand. Are not these
proofs of love?'

'Generous, good young man!' exclaimed Henrietta; 'I respect, I admire
him; I might have loved him. But it is too late.'

'My be