“Then, of course, you will alter your conduct, ere you go too far, and not render him wretched, perhaps for life.”

“Of course, I shall do no such thing, his attentions are too pleasing; it does not appear he will be here long, so I must make the most of the time.”

“Oh, Beatrice, think what havoc you may make in the happiness of a worthy man; look at his character; see his exemplary conduct; and could you, for the paltry gratification of your vanity, condemn him to the pangs of unrequited love.  He has now, I fear, the ills of poverty to struggle against; did you notice his emotion when speaking of his mother and sisters? perhaps they are dependant on him,—­you must not, shall not trifle with him thus.”

“And why not, dearest Ethelind; I shall really begin to suspect you like him yourself; oh, that tell tale blush, how it becomes you.”

“I think,” said Ethelind, “any one would colour at such an accusation.”

“Well then, to be honest, I have no heart to give.”

“No heart to give! surely you are not engaged, and act thus?”

“I am, indeed.”

“Cruel, heartless Beatrice,” said Ethelind, “you cannot mean what you say.”

“I do most solemnly affirm it; but I will tell you all bye and bye:  now I cannot.  I am smarting too much under you severe philippic, you shall indeed know all,—­but,” said the thoughtless girl, “let us go home, as your mother will be waiting tea, and Mr. Barclay with her.”

“How can you face one you have so injured,” said Ethelind, “I could not.”

“When you see a little more of the world, you will call these little flirtations very venial errors.”

“I hope,” said Ethelind, “I shall never call wrong right, or right wrong; neither, I trust, shall I ever act as if I thought so.”

They reached home, and found tea ready, but Mr. Barclay was not there, nor did he visit them that evening, but about eight o’clock Mrs. Fortescue received a note, begging her to excuse him, as he had so much to attend to, preparatory to the family coming to the Park.

They saw no more of him during the week.  On Sunday, he looked, Ethelind thought, very pale.  Coming out of church he spoke to her mother, and she thought there was a tremor in his voice as he spoke, as if concealing some internal emotion.  They made many conjectures as to the cause of this extraordinary conduct, but both Mrs. Fortescue and Ethelind felt certain there must be some good reason, as caprice had, never since they had known him, formed any part of his conduct; they were, therefore, obliged to come to the conclusion, that if they knew it, they would find he had good reason for his conduct.

To Ethelind, when he met her alone, his manner was friendly as ever, but she fancied he had often avoided them, when she and Beatrice were together; sometimes she suspected he doubted Beatrice’s sincerity.  He sent books and fruit to Mrs. Fortescue, as usual, but rarely went to the cottage, and if he did, always timed his visits, so as to go when the younger ladies were out.  He would however, saunter home with Ethelind, if alone, after the duties of the Sunday School, and consult her on many of his plans; in short, he daily became more like his former self.