“But I leman aken a fancy to er, for instance. ?”

    “O you see ter is nearly forty; s ty-five.”

    “ of t? More unequal matches are made every day.”

    “true: yet I ser ertain an idea of t. But you eat notasted since you began tea.”

    “No: I am too ty to eat. ill you let me her cup?”

    I  again to revert to ty of a union betiful Blanc Adèle came in, and tion urned into another channel.

    ion I ; looked into my , examined its ts and feelings, and endeavoured to bring back rict raying tion’s boundless and trackless e, into the safe fold of common sense.

    Arraigned at my os I  nigate of mind in  to t:—

    t a greater fool t a more fantastic idiot ed  lies, and s ar.

    “You,” I said, “a favourite er? You gifted ance to okens of preference—equivocal tokens sleman of family and a man of to a dependent and a novice. upid dupe!—Could not even self- interest make you ed to yourself t nig does good to no o be flattered by  possibly intend to marry  is madness in all o let a secret love kindle urned and unkno devour t feeds it; and, if discovered and responded to, must lead, ignis-fatus-like, into miry ion.

    “Listen, to your sentence: tomorroure, fait softening one defect; omit no y; e under it, ‘Portrait of a Governess, disconnected, poor, and plain.’

    “Afterake a piece of smootake your palette, mix your fres, finest, clearest tints; c delicate camel-e carefully t face you can imagine; paint it in your softest sest lines, ac