But Jane and Emily were delicately placed.  The lover of the former, and the wives of the lovers of both, were in the way of daily, if not hourly rencounters; and it required all the energies of the young women to appear with composure before them.  The elder was supported by pride, the younger by principle.  The first was restless, haughty, distant, and repulsive.  The last mild, humble, reserved, but eminently attractive.  The one was suspected by all around her; the other was unnoticed by any, but by her nearest and dearest friends.

The first rencounter with these dreaded guests occurred at the rooms one evening, where the elder ladies had insisted on the bride’s making her appearance.  The Jarvises were there before them, and at their entrance caught the eyes of the group.  Lady Jarvis approached immediately, filled with exultation—­her husband with respect.  The latter was received with cordiality—­the former politely, but with distance.  The young ladies and Sir Henry bowed distantly, and the gentleman soon drew off into another part of the room:  his absence alone kept Jane from fainting.  The handsome figure of Egerton standing by the side of Mary Jarvis, as her acknowledged husband, was near proving too much for her pride, notwithstanding all her efforts; and he looked so like the imaginary being she had set up as the object of her worship, that her heart was also in danger of rebelling.

“Positively, Sir Edward and my lady, both Sir Timo and myself, and, I dare say, Sir Harry and Lady Egerton too, are delighted to see you comfortably at Bath among us.  Mrs. Moseley, I wish you much happiness; Lady Chatterton too.  I suppose your ladyship recollects me now; I am Lady Jarvis.  Mr. Moseley, I regret, for your sake, that my son Captain Jarvis is not here; you were so fond of each other, and both so loved your guns.”

“Positively, my Lady Jarvis,” said Moseley, drily, “my feelings on the occasion are as strong as your own; but I presume the captain is much top good a shot for me by this time.”

“Why, yes; he improves greatly in most things he undertakes,” rejoined the smiling dame, “and I hope he will soon learn, like you, to shoot with the harrows of Cupid.  I hope the Honorable Mrs. Moseley is well.”

Grace bowed mildly, as she answered to the interrogatory, and smiled at the thought of Jarvis put in competition with her husband in this species of archery, when a voice immediately behind where they sat caught the ears of the whole party; all it said was—­

“Harriet, you forgot to show me Marian’s letter.”

“Yes, but I will to-morrow,” was the reply.

It was the tone of Denbigh.  Emily almost fell from her seat as it first reached her, and the eyes of all but herself were immediately turned in quest of the speaker.  He had approached within a very few feet of them, supporting a lady on each arm.  A second look convinced the Moseleys that they were mistaken.  It was not Denbigh, but a young man whose figure, face, and air resembled him strongly, and whose voice possessed the same soft melodious tones which had distinguished that of Denbigh.  This party seated themselves within a very short distance of the Moseleys, and they continued their conversation.