friend of his sister must be passing; and mere good nature only would have prompted his attention to the stranger—to say nothing of that stranger being an elegant and interesting girl.
Emily now had a partner, who decided the fact of her fairy-like dancing—whose authority was sufficient for admiration—whose attention settled the worthiness of the object on which it was bestowed: she owed him much more than himself. Again, the mornings passed away so pleasantly, when there was some one to whom she could talk about last night; and it was much more agreeable to sing to Edward than to herself. He loved music; he liked the grace, the wit of female society: he was very handsome; and there was nothing improbable in supposing he had a heart to lose, and, moreover, he might lose it. Not that Emily had given one thought to such chance,—Love is the least calculating of all dreamers,—she had been very happy, and such shrink intuitively from asking why. Mortification had forced the conviction upon her; and who ever saw the one they love devoted to another, and found not the fatal truth written on their heart,—and for ever? Many and bitter were the tears Emily shed that night over two withered roses: she
