“And I hope successfully, my Lord,” observed the Lady.  “Miss Harris, brother, does appear to have grown desperate in her attacks, which were formerly much more masked than at present.  I believe it is generally the case, when a young worman throws aside the delicacy and feelings which ought to be the characteristics of her sex, and which teach her studiously to conceal her admiration, that she either becomes in time cynical and disagreeable to all around her from disappointment, or persevering in her efforts, as it were, runs a muck for a husband.  Now in justice to the gentlemen, I must say, baronet, there are strong symptoms of the Malay about Caroline Harris.”

“A muck, a muck,” cried the marquess, as, in obedience to the signal of his sister, he rose to withdraw.

Jane had retired to her own room in a mortification of spirit she could ill conceal during this conversation, and she felt a degree of humiliation which almost drove her to the desperate resolution of hiding herself for ever from the world.  The man she had so fondly enshrined in her heart proving to be so notoriously unworthy as to be the subject of unreserved censure in general company, was a reproach to her delicacy, her observation, her judgment, that was the more severe, from being true; and she wept in bitterness over her fallen happiness.

Emily had noticed the movement of Jane, and waited anxiously for the departure of the visitors to hasten to her room.  She knocked two or three times before her sister replied to her request for admittance.

“Jane, my dear Jane,” said Emily, soothingly, “will you not admit me?”

Jane could not resist any longer the affection of her sister, and the door was opened; but as Emily endeavored to take her hand, she drew back coldly, and cried—­

“I wonder you, who are so happy, will leave the gay scene below for the society of an humbled wretch like me;” and overcome with the violence of her emotion, she burst into tears.

“Happy!” repeated Emily, in a tone of anguish, “happy, did you say, Jane?  Oh, little do you know my sufferings, or you would never speak so cruelly!”

Jane, in her turn, surprised at the strength of Emily’s language, considered her weeping sister with commiseration; and then her thoughts recurring to her own case, she continued with energy—­

“Yes, Emily, happy; for whatever may have been the reason of Denbigh’s conduct, he is respected; and if you do or did love him, he was worthy of it.  But I,” said Jane, wildly, “threw away my affections on a wretch—­a mere impostor—­and I am miserable for ever.”

“No, dear Jane,” rejoined Emily, having recovered her self-possession, “not miserable—­nor for ever.  You have many, very many sources of happiness yet within your reach, even in this world.  I—­I do think, even our strongest attachments may be overcome by energy and a sense of duty.  And oh! how I wish I could see you make the effort.”