don't blush, Ethel; I am only laying down general rules. A man in love is a nonentity for the time—he is nothing; and nature, that is, my nature, abhors a vacuum. Now is not that a philosophical deduction, Mr. Maynard?"
Walter started from his reverie—he had not been listening.
"You never know what one is saying," exclaimed Lady Marchmont, pettishly.
"Nay," said he, in one of those deep melodious voices which almost startle with their peculiar sweetness, "I heard you speak, and, as one often does with songs, in the music I lost the words."
"How I should like," said Ethel, "to see you dressed on the day of your presentation. When I imagine things about you, I always fancy you 'reine d'amour' at a tournament, while
'your eyes
Rain influence, and adjudge the prize.'"
"Thank Heaven," cried Henrietta, laughing, "you do not, even in fancy, turn me into a shepherdess, with sheep on one side, and a purling brook on the other."
