since that occasion when her claims were brought into comparison with those of Ginevra Fanshawe, and had so signally prevailed; she had much to tell me of her travels in the interval. A most animated, rapid speaker was she in such tête-à-tête, a most lively describer; yet with her artless diction and clear, soft voice, she never seemed to speak too fast or say too much. My own attention I think would not soon have flagged, but by-and-by, she herself seemed to need some change of subject; she hastened to wind up her narrative briefly. Yet why she terminated with so concise an abridgment did not immediately appear; silence followed—a restless silence, not without symptoms of abstraction. Then, turning to me, in a diffident, half-appealing voice,—
"Lucy—"
"Well, I am at your side."
"Is my cousin Ginevra still at Madame Beck's?"
"Your cousin is still there; you must be longing to see her."
"No—not much."
"You want to invite her to spend another evening?
"No....I suppose she still talks about being married?"
