Winnie she whispered in her ear,—­“It is such a comfort to me, dear, that you prefer your mother’s sick room to more attractive society!” Had she known of the struggle which had been going on in her daughter’s heart, through the influence of the gentle one whom she looked upon as a well-loved child, her eye could hardly have been brighter than it was, as her child pressed a kiss upon her forehead, and said, “I shall always love best to be with you mother.”

That night Winnie retired with a determination to strive to overcome her sinful ways, and as she heard the voice of the Sea-flower at her evening devotions, (their rooms adjoining,) she spoke aloud, “I will try to be more like her.”  With this resolve, she fell asleep; but as the rising sun peeped in at her window, there were to be found no traces of her evening resolutions!  If any thing, mischief looked out upon the new day with renewed earnestness, and Winnie Santon was the same gay, reckless creature as ever.

“Ah, ha, miss puss, so your bow is new strung again, is it?” said Mr. Santon to his daughter, as the door closed upon one of the mustached upper ten, who frequently found their way to the elegant mansion of Mr. Santon.

“‘New strung’ with an old string, father; if these exquisites are foolish enough to burn their fingers a second time, they must suffer the consequences.”

Mr. Santon laughed, and merely said,—­“Oh, you cruel beauty!” returning to his paper again; but, seated in the bay-window was one, who could not thus lightly look upon the conduct of the coquettish Winnie, for it was evident she was a sad coquette.  Often had Natalie observed her, as she received each admirer with the same bewitching smile, impressing him with the belief that he of all others was the favored one, and he would depart, to return again as early as the rules of propriety would admit, considering the fair one was not yet out.

“Natalie,” asked Winnie, as she seated herself at her embroidery, “why did you not deign to give Mr. Redfield one of your winning smiles?  You are so reserved, and take so little notice of the gentlemen, that I shall begin to think your charms are doomed to fade beneath the convent veil.”

“I was not aware that I did not receive Mr. Redfield with cordiality.”

“Yes, but the absence of that fascinating air, which you know would bring the most unyielding to your feet, is what I am lamenting.  Had Mr. Redfield been my only admirer, I should have been jealous of the glances which he cast at you; but I don’t know as there would be any occasion for that, for you, whose heart is made for love, seem to be in no danger at present of losing it.”

“I certainly respect the gentlemen who visit us, but as for having a preference for one more than another, I have not; and, Winnie dear, just ask yourself if you ever give one thought to any one of those who deceive themselves by thinking that they, of all others, are preeminent in your regards.”