character."

"Indeed I do not, my dear Virginia; on the contrary, this brief
interview has but confirmed my previously formed opinion."

"Oh! that is impossible, Hansford; you are too suspicious, indeed you
are. I never saw more refinement and delicacy blended with more real
candour. Indeed, Hansford, he is a noble fellow."

"I am sorry to differ with you, dearest; but to my mind his refinement
is naught but Jesuitical craft; his delicacy the result of an
educational schooling of the lip, to conceal the real feelings of his
heart; and his candour but the gilt washing which appears like gold, but
after all, only hides the baser metal beneath it."

"Well, in my life I never heard such perversion! Really, Hansford, you
will make me think you are jealous."

"Jealous, Virginia, jealous!" said Hansford, in a sorrowful tone. "Alas!
if I were even capable of such a feeling, what right have I to entertain
it? Your heart is free, and torn from the soil which once cherished it,
may be transplanted elsewhere, while the poor earth where once it grew
can only hope now and then to feel the fragrance which it sheds on all
around. No, not jealous, Virginia, whatever else I may be!"

"You speak too bitterly, Hansford; have I not assured you that though a
harsh fate may sever us; though parental authority may deny you my hand,
yet my heart is unalterably yours. But tell me, why it is that you can
see nothing good in this young man, and persist in perverting every
sentiment, every look, every expression to his injury?"

Before Hansford could reply, the shrill voice of Mrs. Temple was heard,
crying out; "Virginia Temple, Virginia Temple, why where can the child
have got to!"--and at the same moment the old lady came bustling round
the house, and discovered the unlawful interview of the lovers.

Rising hastily from her seat, Virginia advanced to her mother, who,
without giving her time to speak, even had she been so inclined, sang
out at the top of her voice--"Come along, my daughter. Here are the
guests in your father's house kept waiting in the porch to tell you
good-bye, and you, forsooth, must be talking, the Lord knows what, to
that young scape-gallows yonder, who hasn't modesty enough to know when
and where he's wanted."

"Dear mother, don't speak so loud," whispered the poor girl.

"Don't talk so loud, forsooth--and why? They that put themselves where
they are not wanted and not asked, must expect to hear ill of
themselves.