of propriety—came out of his way to meet us, with cheerful smiles and words for all but me, and placing himself between Annabella Wilmot, and myself, walked up the road and began to relate the various exploits and disasters of the day, in a manner that would have convulsed me with laughter, if I had been on good terms with him; but he addressed himself entirely to Annabella, and I, of course, left all the laughter and all the badinage to her, and affecting the utmost indifference to whatever passed between them, walked along a few paces apart, and looking every way but theirs; while my aunt and Milicent went before, linked arm in arm, and gravely discoursing together. At length, Mr. Huntingdon turned to me, and addressing me in a confidential whisper, said—
"Helen, why did you burn my picture?"
"Because, I wished to destroy it," I answered, with an asperity it is useless now to lament.
"Oh, very good!" was the reply, "if you don't value me, I must turn to somebody that will."
