onvinced that there is mischief at the
bottom. You described just now, with far too much freedom for your years
and sex, the sort of individual you would prefer as a husband. Pray, did
you paint from the life?"

Shirley opened her lips, but instead of speaking she only glowed
rose-red.

"I shall have an answer to that question," affirmed Mr. Sympson,
assuming vast courage and consequence on the strength of this symptom of
confusion.

"It was an historical picture, uncle, from several originals."

"Several originals! Bless my heart!"

"I have been in love several times."

"This is cynical."

"With heroes of many nations."

"What next----"

"And philosophers."

"She is mad----"

"Don't ring the bell, uncle; you will alarm my aunt."

"Your poor dear aunt, what a niece has she!"

"Once I loved Socrates."

"Pooh! no trifling, ma'am."

"I admired Themistocles, Leonidas, Epaminondas."

"Miss Keeldar----"

"To pass over a few centuries, Washington was a plain man, but I liked
him; but to speak of the actual present----"

"Ah! the actual present."

"To quit crude schoolgirl fancies, and come to realities."

"Realities! That is the test to which you shall be brought, ma'am."

"To avow before what altar I now kneel--to reveal the present idol of my
soul----"

"You will make haste about it, if you please. It is near luncheon time,
and confess _you shall_."

"Confess I must. My heart is full of the secret. It must be spoken. I
only wish you were Mr. Helstone instead of Mr. Sympson; you would
sympathize with me better."

"Madam, it is a question of common sense and common prudence, not of
sympathy and sentiment, and so on. Did you say it was Mr. Helstone?"

"Not precisely, but as near as may be; they are rather alike."

"I will know the name; I will have particulars."

"They positively _are_ rather alike. Their very faces are not
dissimilar--a pair of human falcons--and dry, direct, decided both. But
my hero is the mightier of the two. His mind has the clearness of the
deep sea, the patience of its rocks, the force of its billows."

"Rant and fustian!"

"I dare say he can be harsh as a saw-edge and gruff as a hungry raven."

"Miss Keeldar, does the person reside in Briarfield? Answer me that."

"Uncle, I am going to tell you; his name is trembling on my tongue."

"Speak, girl!"

"That was well said, uncle. 'Speak, girl!' It is quite tragic. England
has howled savagely against this man, unc