So, innocence listened to worldly wisdom, and pride overturned simplicity; and, in consequence, our friend Verty found himself opposite a young lady who blushed, and exhibited a most unaccountable constraint, and only gave him the tips of her fingers, when he was ready for, and expected, the most enthusiastic greeting.

We must, however, speak of another influence which made Redbud so cool;—­and this will, very probably, have occurred to our lady readers, if we have any, as the better explanation.  Separation!  Yes, the separation which stimulates affection, and bathes the eyes in the languid dews of memory.  Strephon is never so devoted as when Chloe has been removed from him—­when his glances seek for her in vain on the well-remembered lawn.  And Chloe, too, is disconsolate, when she no longer sees the crook of her shepherd, or hears the madrigals he sings.  Absence smoothes all rough places; and the friend from whom we are separated, takes the dearest place in the heart of hearts.

Redbud did not discover how much she loved Verty, until she was gone from him, and the fresh music of his laughter was no longer in her ears.  Then she found that he held a very different place in her heart from what she had supposed;—­or rather, to speak more accurately, she did not reflect in the least upon the matter, but only felt that he was not there near her, and that she was not happy.

This will explain the prim little ladylike air of bashfulness and constraint which Redbud exhibited, when her eyes fell on Verty, and the coolness with which she gave him her hand.  The old things had passed away—­Verty could be the boy-playmate no more, however much it grieved her.  Thus reflected Miss Redbud; and in accordance with this train of reasoning, did she conduct herself upon the occasion of which we speak.

So, to Strephon’s request to be informed why she came thither, without telling him, Chloe replied with a blush: 

“Oh, I came to school—­sir,” she was about to add, but did not.

“To school?  Is this a school for young ladies?”

Redbud, with a delicate little inclination of the head, said yes.

“Well,” Verty went on, “I am glad I found you; for, Redbud, you can’t tell how I’ve been feeling, ever since you went away.  It seemed to me that there was a big weight resting on my breast.”

Redbud colored, and laughed.

“Sometimes,” said Verty, smiling, “I would try and get it away by drawing in my breath, and ever so long; but I could’nt,” he added, shaking his head; “I don’t know what it means.”

Mr. Jinks, who was dusting his rosetted shoes with a white pocket handkerchief, grimaced at this.

“Well, well,” Verty went on, “I begin to feel better now, since I’ve seen you; and, I think, I’ll do better in my office work.”

“Office work?” asked Redbud, beginning to grow more like her former self.

“Oh, yes!” Verty replied; “I’m in Mr. Rushton’s office now, and I’m a lawyer’s clerk;—­that’s what they call it, I believe.”