ng smiled, and Nora blushed.

"If you are not overwhelmed now," said Miss Spalding, "you must be so
used to flattery, that it has no longer any effect upon you. You must
be like a drunkard, to whom wine is as water, and who thinks that
brandy is not strong enough."

"I think I had better go away," said Mr. Glascock, "for fear the
brandy should be watered by degrees." And so he left them.

Nora had become quite aware, without much process of thinking about
it, that her former lover and this American young lady were very
intimate with each other. The tone of the conversation had shewn that
it was so;--and, then, how had it come to pass that Mr. Glascock had
spoken to this American girl about her,--Nora Rowley? It was evident
that he had spoken of her with warmth, and had done so in a manner to
impress his hearer. For a minute or two they sat together in silence
after Mr. Glascock had left them, but neither of them stirred. Then
Caroline Spalding turned suddenly upon Nora, and took her by the
hand. "I must tell you something," said she, "only it must be a
secret for awhile."

"I will not repeat it."

"Thank you, dear. I am engaged to him,--as his wife. He asked me this
very afternoon, and nobody knows it but my aunt. When I had accepted
him, he told me all the story about you. He had very often spoken
of you before, and I had guessed how it must have been. He wears
his heart so open for those whom he loves, that there is nothing
concealed. He had seen you just before he came to me. But perhaps I
am wrong to tell you that now. He ought to have been thinking of you
again at such a time."

"I did not want him to think of me again."

"Of course you did not. Of course I am joking. You might have been
his wife if you wished it. He has told me all that. And he especially
wants us to be friends. Is there anything to prevent it?"

"On my part? Oh, dear, no;--except that you will be such grand folk,
and we shall be so poor."

"We!" said Caroline, laughing. "I am so glad that there is a 'we.'"

CHAPTER LXXVII.

THE FUTURE LADY PETERBOROUGH.

"If you have not sold yourself for British gold, and for British
acres, and for British rank, I have nothing to say against it,"
said Miss Wallachia Petrie that same evening to her friend Caroline
Spalding.

"You know that I have not sold myself, as you call it," said
Caroline. There had been a long friendship between these two ladies,
and the younger one knew that it be