of reckoning, by the by,—but I feel very old. I scarcely know any thing that really interests me, and I would give a great deal not to be so quick-sighted as I am; it would be so pleasant to believe only a tithe of the professions that are made me."
"It is a dreadful thing to doubt!" returned Constance, sadly: "I do not know why, but there is something about you that discourages me almost as much as my father's conversation sometimes does. What is there that nature has not done for you? and yet you are not happy. I have watched you in your most brilliant moments: others went away saying, what charming spirits Lady Marchmont has! but I saw that they were forced."
"You are right!" exclaimed Henrietta: "I so often feel that I am not loved, and not valued as I deserve to be. I carry the coldness of my own hearth about with me; and with the usual exaggeration of self-love, I fancy people must see the dejection under which I often labour: I disdain their pity, and put on a vizor of smiles to ward it off."
