was sitting on a sofa in the gallery, making himself agreeable to a foreign princess, and at the same time repressing the caresses of an Italian greyhound, and playing with the light flowing curly locks of his youngest daughter, a child of about six years old. He had studied all modes of appearing with effect, and had decided in his own mind, that to be stately was mauvais ton, and a state device for assuming consequence; and that nothing would have a better air than to seem indifferent to his own splendour, to sink as much as possible the character of the host, leave the cares of reception to Lady Rodborough, and lounge about the house, and be carelessly good-humoured, and negligently civil to all who might chance to fall in his way.

So far was decided; but this was not sufficient. The pursuance of this line of conduct alone, could not have distinguished him from his guests; whereas, though his ostensible object, like theirs, was only to amuse himself, it was necessary that he should be much more at home, than any of them in common propriety ought to be. Any little sprain or accident, that would have enabled him to dispense with the strict formalities of an evening dress, or to wear a sling, or a slashed sleeve, or to attire himself in any other interesting manner, would have been very convenient. But as not

even gout would come to his aid, and allow him to let the world see, that he was conscious of being in his own house, he was obliged to have recourse to other methods of producing a sensation. It struck him that a display of parental fondness, would form a very interesting and softening contrast with the more awful points of his character: and, accordingly, his youngest daughter, a beautiful child, who was like her father, and had been indulged into being very fond of him, was kept

up beyond her usual hours, that she might hang about him, attract the attention of the ladies, be a pretty play-thing when he had nothing else to do, and a convenient excuse for any inattention to his less distinguished guests, of which he might think proper to be guilty.

CHAPTER XXII.

From the top of all my trust,

Mishap hath throwen me in the dust.
SIR T. WYATT.

MEANWHILE, the minutes rolled on, the crowd poured in, and the contents of the overflowing anti-room, now half filled the spacious gallery. The band commenced an enlivening air; young ladies and gentlemen began to file off from the sides to the centre; sundry arrangements seemed to be made, in which was chiefly audible, the word "vis-à-vis:" there was a momentary crowd, and movement, and confusion; when all at once, order sprung up, like the world out of chaos, from this seeming irregularity; and as the chaperons fell back, a large proportion of the younger part of the assembly, were seen to be symmetrically arranged in several regular hollow squares: a slight double clap of the hand was heard: the band struck up, and the ball was begun.

A quadrille was ended, and the Mortons were not come; another was begun, and they were still absent; and Herbert, who was vexed at their nonappearance, could not help wondering to his partner, Lady Mary Sedley, what could make them so very late.

"I don't know," said the young lady, in a tone, which also implied that neither did she care. suppose it is only Lady Louisa taking time to make up her mind to be imprudent and come out. Poor

Lady Loo! What a pity she can never fancy herself quite well! Whenever you ask her how she does? she says, invariably, "thank you, better." I cannot understand how she happens to be always improving, and never as well as other people. She must have had a large stock of illness to begin with.'

Herbert next ventured to mention Agnes, and to sound Lady Mary's opinion of her: but the lady did not seem interested in the subject, merely said she was a nice girl, and after finding out a likeness for her, which Herbert could not feel to be complimentary, was glad to turn the conversation to some good mark for ridicule. Herbert unintentionally assisted her in this respect, by asking, if she knew the Applebys.

"Oh, perfectly," was her answer. "You must not quiz them to me, Mr. Lacy, for they are somehow or other related to us. Lady Appleby always calls us cousins. What a dear, civil creature she is! She says pretty things to one, that sound as if they had been taken, word for word, out of a note of congratulation. And then what a sprightly person he is! I see them now-there he stands, pitying himself for some piece of good fortune."

"Were not they to come from Dodswell?"

"Yes," said Lady Mary, "and I suppose the Mortons are come too."

Herbert looked eagerly around him, and at that moment, the crowd opening, enabled him to see the object of all his solicitude. She was standing near the entrance to the ball-room, leaning on the arm of Sackville, who was talking to Lady Rodborough. She looked grave, and rather pale; but Herbert was disposed to attribute this to the glare of the lamps, and thought her as beautiful as ever. He saw her eye directed to the place where he was, and he thought she recognized him; but this

might be a mistake, for she betrayed no signs of recognition, and immediately looked another way. Herbert tried to catch her eye, but in vain. She

soon retired to a seat, where she was screened from his view, by the standers in front; and Herbert was obliged to resign all hopes of seeing more of her, till he had made his bow to Lady Mary.

Scarcely had he conducted that lady to a seat, than he saw Mr. Morton near him. He thought he appeared unwilling to accost him, sidled off as he approached, and persisted in looking another way, till he could no longer refrain from acknowledging Herbert's address. When he did, it was rather uneasily. He said a few common-place things about the ball; inquired after Sir William; regretted not having been at home, when Lacy called on the Monday; and then seemed glad to break off the conference, by turning to talk to another of his acquaintance. His manner was evidently changed from what it was when they met last; and Herbert was uneasy at the circumstance.

Unconscious how he could have given offence, he was the more desirous of trying what would be his reception from Agnes. He soon found her: she was seated, and Sackville by her side. She seemed to be conscious of his approach, but could not look at him; turning still more pale, cast down her eyes, and tried to seem attentive to what was said by the Miss Tyrwhitts, who were sitting on the other side of her. They were very ineligible witnesses for this meeting, having made good use of their eyes at Huntley, and being at least suspicious, if not certain, that Agnes and Lacy were mutually attached. Sackville comprehended all the unpleasantness of the situation in which Agnes was placed. He saw her agitation, and wishing to give her time for recovery, drew off the attention of Lacy, by addressing him first himself.