gentlemen for their friends without mercy.

"But he's ugly, you say," continued Mrs. Mervale, sorrowfully, who,
old lady as she was, liked a handsome young man, and always lamented
when she found mental gifts unaccompanied by personal charms.

"Yes, he's no beauty, that's certain," said Angila, gayly.

"Has he a good air and figure?" pursued Mrs. Mervale, still hoping so
clever a man might be better looking after all.

"Yes, tolerable--middle height--nothing remarkable one way or the
other." And then the young lady went off to tell some piece of news,
that quite put Mr. Hazlewood out of her mother's head for the present.

When Angila next wrote to Augusta, although she spoke of Mrs.
Carpenter's party, a little consciousness prevented her saying much
about Robert Hazlewood, and consequently her friend was quite
unsuspicious of the large share he had in making the party she
described so pleasant.

Hazlewood had really been pleased by Angila. She was pretty--and he
found her lively and intelligent. He had always been inclined to
admire her, but she had turned from him once or twice in what he had
thought a haughty manner, and consequently he had scarcely known her
until they met at this little _conversazione_ of Mrs. Carpenter's,
where accident placed them near each other. The party was so small
that where people happened to find themselves, there they staid--it
requiring some courage for a young man to break the charmed ring, and
deliberately plant himself before any lady, or attempt to talk to any
one except her beside whom fate had placed him.

Now Angila had the corner seat on a sofa near the fire-place, and
Hazlewood was standing, leaning against the chimney-piece, so that a
nicer, more cosy position for a pleasant talk could hardly be
conceived in so small a circle. Miss Morton was on the other side of
the fire-place, occupying the corresponding situation to Angila, and
Angila could see her peeping forward from time to time to see if
Hazlewood still maintained his place. His back was turned toward her,
so if she did throw any anxious glances that way, he did not see them.

Angila met him a few evenings after this at the Opera, and found that
he was a passionate lover of music. They talked again, and he very
well, for he really was a sensible, well-educated young man. Music is
a favorite source of inspiration, and Hazlewood was a connoisseur as
well as amateur. She found that he seldom missed a night at the