which even she felt was sacred; but Lady Marchmont was a new rival, and come too actual, and too near.
"I will tell you what, Lavinia," said Maynard, stopping short in his hurried walk, "you must give me those letters; and, painful as it is, I will at once take them to her, and make the disclosure!"
"Indeed I will do no such thing!" replied Lavinia, pettishly; "if Lady Marchmont likes to be made a fool of, what business is it of mine?"
Walter, who had been engrossed in his own thoughts, had not observed what was passing in his companion's mind, and stood amazed at what appeared to him such an unaccountable change.
"My dear Lavinia," exclaimed he, earnestly, "you wrong yourself; you are far too kind-hearted to have any satisfaction in the shame and misery to which keeping back those letters will inevitably expose Lady Marchmont!"
