“You will not discard me surely, Miss Clinton?”

“On that subject, unquestionably.”

“No, no, my dear Miss Clinton, you will not say so; do not be so cruel; you will distress me greatly, I assure you.  I am very much deficient in firmness, and your cruelty will afflict me and depress my spirits.”

“I trust not, Mr. Burke.  Your spirits are naturally good, and I have no doubt but you will ultimately overcome this calamity—­at least I sincerely hope so.”

“Ah, Miss Clinton, you little know the heart I have, nor my capacity for feeling; my feelings, I assure you, are exceedingly tender, and I get quite sunk under disappointment.  Come, Miss Clinton, you must not deprive me altogether of hope; it is too cruel.  Do not say no forever.”

The arch girl shook her head with something of mock solemnity, and replied, “I must indeed, Mr. Burke; the fatal no must be pronounced, and in connection with forever too; and unless you have much virtue to sustain you, I fear you run a great risk of dying a martyr to a negative.  I would fain hope, however, that the virtue I allude to, and your well-known sense of religion, will support you under such a trial.”

This was uttered in a tone of grave ironical sympathy that not only gave it peculiar severity, but intimated to Hycy that his character was fully understood.

“Well, Miss Clinton,” said he, rising with a countenance in which there was a considerable struggle between self-conceit and mortification, a struggle which in fact was exceedingly ludicrous in its effect, “I must only hope that you probably may change your mind.”

“Mr. Burke,” said she, with a grave and serious dignity that was designed to terminate the interview, “there are subjects upon which a girl of delicacy and principle never can change her mind, and this I feel obliged to say, once for all, is one of them.  I am now my uncle’s housekeeper,” she added, taking up a bunch of keys, “and you must permit me to wish you a good morning,” saying which, with a cool but very polite inclination of her head, she dismissed Hycy the accomplished, who cut anything but a dignified figure as he withdrew.

“Well,” said her brother, who was reading a newspaper in the parlor, “is the report favorable?”

“No,” replied Hycy, “anything but favorable.  I fear, Harry, you have not played me fair in this business.”

“How is that?” asked the other, rather quickly.

“I fear you’ve prejudiced your sister against me, and that instead of giving me a clear stage, you gave me the ‘no favor’ portion of the adage only.”

“I am not in the habit of stating a falsehood, Hycy, nor of having any assertion I make questioned; I have already told you, I think, that I would not prejudice my sister against you.  I now repeat that I have not done so; but I cannot account for her prejudices against you any more than I shall attempt to contradict or combat them, so far from that I now tell you, that if she were unfortunately disposed to many you, I would endeavor to prevent her.”