low; my friend, indeed!"

"Well, I beg your pardon: then there was Mademoiselle Caumartin, and the
Prince Pietro del Orbino, and Mr. Trevanion, and Mr. Lin--Lin--Linten,
or Linden."

"And pray, will you allow me to ask how you became acquainted with Mr.
Lin--Lin--Linten, or Linden?"

"Assuredly; through the Duke of Haverfield."

"Humph! Cecile, my love, that young man is not fit to be the
acquaintance of my friend: allow me to strike him from your list."

"Certainly, certainly!" said La Meronville, hastily; and stooping as
if to pick up a fallen glove, though, in reality, to hide her face from
Lord Borodaile's searching eye, the letter she had written fell from her
bosom. Lord Borodaile's glance detected the superscription, and before
La Meronville could regain the note he had possessed himself of it.

"A Monsieur, Monsieur Linden!" said he, coldly, reading the address;
"and, pray, how long have you corresponded with that gentleman?"

Now La Meronville's situation at that moment was by no means agreeable.
She saw at one glance that no falsehood or artifice could avail her; for
Lord Borodaile might deem himself fully justified in reading the note,
which would contradict any glossing statement she might make. She
saw this. She was a woman of independence; cared not a straw for Lord
Borodaile at present, though she had had a caprice for him; knew that
she might choose her bon ami out of all London, and replied,--

"That is the first letter I ever wrote to him; but I own that it will
not be the last."

Lord Borodaile turned pale.

"And will you suffer me to read it?" said he; for even in these cases he
was punctiliously honourable.

La Meronville hesitated. She did not know him. "If I do not consent,"
thought she, "he will do it without the consent: better submit with a
good grace.--Certainly!" she answered, with an air of indifference.

Borodaile opened and read the note; it was as follows:--

You have inspired me with a feeling for you which astonishes myself.
Ah, why should that love be the strongest which is the swiftest in its
growth? I used to love Lord Borodaile: I now only esteem him; the love
has flown to you. If I judge rightly from your words and your eyes, this
avowal will not be unwelcome to you. Come and assure me, in person, of a
persuasion so dear to my heart. C. L. M.

"A very pretty effusion!" said Lord Borodaile, sarcastically, and only
showing his inward rage by the increasing paleness of