nounced the world—its hopes, its feelings, and its vanities. But a nearer glance would have belied the first surmise. The lip was white, but it was tremulous; and human emotion was in the passionate paleness, and in the dark and glistening eyes. Mrs. Courtenaye took her seat; and, after a moment's silence, said—but the voice was hollow and constrained through all its effort at calmness,—
"I wished, my dear Norbourne, to express my entire approval of your marriage with your cousin"
"My marriage with my cousin," interrupted Norbourne, "will never take place. My uncle is so accustomed to arrange everybody's affairs for them, that he forgets that I am the first person to be consulted in an affair like this. I admire and like my uncle, but will not be dictated to. Once for all, my dear mother, I will not marry Constance Courtenaye."
"Think," exclaimed his mother, eagerly, "on the advantages of the alliance. You
