But it is hard for hope to forsake the young.  It can never wholly leave any soul, except by a slow process of bitter disappointment.  John saw that he had made a mistake.  The strength and tumult of his passion for Adele had led him thoughtlessly into what probably appeared to her, an attempt to storm the citadel of her heart, and in her pride, she had repulsed him.

He bethought him that there were gentler modes of reaching that seat of life and love.  He became a tactician.  He resolved he would, by his future conduct, perhaps by some chance word, indicate to Adele that he understood her repulse and did not intend to repeat his offence.  He would not hereafter seek her presence unduly, but when they were thrown together, would show himself merely gentle and brotherly.  And then,—­he would trust to time, to circumstances, to his lucky star, to bring her to his side.

In the mean time, after her tears had subsided, Adele found, somewhat to her surprise, that this sudden disturbance of her usual equilibrium came from the very deep interest she felt for Mr. Lansdowne.  And, moreover, she was annoyed to find it so, and did not at all like to own it to herself.  Naturally proud, self-relying, and in the habit of choosing her own path, she had an instinctive feeling that this new passion might lay upon her a certain thralldom, not congenial to her haughty spirit.  This consciousness made her distant and reserved, when she again met Mr. Lansdowne at the tea-table.

In fact, the manner of each towards the other had wholly changed.

John was calm, respectful, gentle, but made no effort to draw Adele’s attention.  After tea he asked Mrs. Dubois to play backgammon with him.

Adele worked on her embroidery, and Mr. Somers sat beside her, sketching on paper with his pencil, various bits of ruin and scenery in Europe, mixed up with all sorts of grotesque shapes and monsters.  Mr. Lansdowne appeared, all the evening, so composed, so natural, and simply brotherly, that when Adele went to her room for the night, the interview of the afternoon seemed almost like a dream.  She thought that the peculiar reception she had given to his avowal, might have quite disenchanted her lover.  And the thought disturbed her.  After much questioning and surmising, she went to sleep.

The next day and the next, Mr. Lansdowne’s manner towards Adele continued the same.  She supposed he might renew the subject of their last conversation, but he did not, although several opportunities presented, when he might have done so.  Occasionally, she strove to read his emotions by observing his countenance, but his eyes were averted to other objects.  He no longer glanced towards her.  “Ah! well”, said Adele to herself, “his affection for me could not be so easily repulsed, were it so very profound.  I will care nothing for him”.  And yet, somehow, her footstep lagged wearily and her eye occasionally gathered mists on its brightness.