her; and yet she never refuses his attentions or shrinks from his conversation, as, if I disliked him (as when we are alone she appears to do), I know I should.  Do not tremble for my peace, dear Mary, as you read these flowing descriptions.  In society they are most agreeable, but as the partner of my life, I have not yet seen one to whom, were the question asked, I could with any hope of happiness give my hand.  These scenes are well for a time, but they are not those in which I would wish to pass my life.  My wishes are humbler, much humbler; but I do not yet understand them sufficiently even to define them to myself.  It is much the same with the young ladies of rank with whom I now frequently associate; they are agreeable companions, but not one, no, not one can supply your place, dearest Mary.  Not one can I love as I do you.  We have no ideas in common; amiable and good as in all probability they are, still, as my intimate friends I could not regard them; and yet—­strange contradiction you will say—­I wish Caroline could find one amongst them to supply the place of Annie Grahame in her heart.  Why am I so prejudiced against her, you will ask.  Mary, I am prejudiced, and I cannot help it.  Something tells me my sister will obtain no good from this intimacy, I never did like her, and of late this feeling has increased.  Ellen is pleased, too, when her health permits her to join our agreeable little coteries.  She appears overcoming her very great reserve, but does not become more lively.  She looks always to me, as if she felt a stain yet lingers on her character, and though mamma and papa treat her even more kindly than they did before, if possible, still there are times when to me she appears inwardly unhappy.  Strangers would only pronounce her more pensive than usual for her years; for her slight figure and very delicate features, as well as retiring manner, make her appear even younger than she is, but I sometimes fancy I read more.  She is always calm and gentle as she used to be, and I never can discover when anything vexes her, except by her heightened colour, which is more easily visible now than when her health was better.

I am summoned away, dear Mary, to go with mamma to ride, and as this leaves to night, I must not write more now; but I intend teasing you with letters every week till you write to me, if you are not well, in the sincere wish to arouse you and draw your thoughts from what may be unpleasing subjects:  and if you are idle, to spur you to your task.  Adieu, my dearest friend.

Your ever affectionate EMMELINE.

From Mary Greville to Emmeline Hamilton.

Greville Manor, March 13.