bring?" exclaimed Henrietta, addressing him as he approached.
"You will scarcely guess," replied Sinclair, as he opened a portfolio. "And even if I inform you that I have brought for your inspection the engravings intended for the 'Ladies' Almanac' of this year, you will hardly guess the subjects they portray; but when I tell you that young ladies are represented in a series of twelve engravings—"
"Indeed!" exclaimed Henrietta, interrupting him, "you have no intention, I perceive, of putting our ingenuity to the test. You jest, if I mistake not; for you know how I delight in riddles and charades, and in guessing my friends' enigmas. Twelve young ladies, you say,—sketches of character, I suppose; some adventures or situations, or something else that redounds to the honour of the sex."
Sinclair smiled in silence; whilst Amelia watched him with calm composure, and then remarked, with that fine sarcastic tone which so well became her, "If I read his countenance truly, he has something to produce of which we shall not quite approve. Men are so fond of discovering something which shall have the appearance of turning us into ridicule."
Sinclair.—You are becoming serious, Amelia, and threaten to grow satirical. I shall scarcely venture to open my little packet.
Henrietta.—Oh! produce it.
Sinclair.—They are caricatures.
Henrietta.—I love them of all things.
Sinclair.—Sketches of naughty ladies.
Henrietta.—So much the better: we do not belong to that class. Their portraits would afford us as little pleasure as their society.
Sinclair.—Shall I show them?
Henrietta.—Do so at once.
So saying, she snatched the portfolio from him,
