"Ah! you are very vain of me, I know--very!"

"Proud, fond--not vain!"

"You deceive yourself still, I suspect, even with your distinctions.

But you must forego the pleasure of displaying my 'stern beauties,'

as your particular possession, at the gallery. You must content yourself

with others not so sterm, though perhaps not less beautiful, and

certainly more amiable. Edgerton will be your sufficient chaperon."

"Yes, but I do not wish to be troubling Mr. Edgerton so frequently;

and, indeed, I would rather forego the pleasure of seeing the

pictures altogether, than trespass in this way upon his attention

and leisure."

"Indeed, but I am very sure you do not trespass upon either. He

is an idle, good fellow, relishes anything better than business,

and you know has such a passion for painting and pictures that its

indulgence seems to justify anything to his mind. He will forget

everything in their pursuit."

All this was said with a studious indifference of manner. I was

singularly successful in concealing the expression of that agony

which was gnawing all the while upon my heart. I could smile, too,

while I was speaking--while I was suffering! Look calmly into her

face and smile, with a composure, a strength, the very consciousness

of which was a source of terrible overthrow to me at last. I was

surprised to perceive an air of chagrin upon Julia's countenance,

which was certainly unstudied. She was one of those who do not

well conceal or cloak their real sentiments. The faculty of doing

so is usually much more strongly possessed by women than by men--much

more easily commanded--but SHE had little of it. Why should she

wear this expression of disappointment--chagrin! Was she really

anxious that I should attend her? I began to think so--began to

relent, and think of promising that I would go with her, when she

somewhat abruptly laid her hand upon my arm.

"Edward, you leave me too frequently. You stay from me too long,

particularly at evening. Do not forget, dear husband, how few female

friends I have; how few friends of any sort--how small is my social

circle. Besides, it is expected of all young people, newly married,

that they will be frequently together; and when it is seen that

they are often separate--that the wife goes abroad alone, or goes

in the company of persons not of the family, it begets a suspicion

that all is not well--that there is no peace, no love, in the family

so divided. Do not think, Edward, that I mean this reproachfully--that

I mean complaint--that I apprehend the loss of your love: oh no!

I dread too greatly any such loss to venture upon its suspicion

lightly, but I would guard against the conjectures of others--"

"So, then, it is not that you really wish my company. It is be-cause

you would simply maintain appearances."




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