covered, his arms involuntarily dropped on the sofa; and this was the noise that interrupted Catherine's revelations, and made her dismiss Lord Wilmingham. For a moment he was disposed to approach the balcony, and shew the unworthy pair that he had heard the whole of their conversation; but a little reflection taught him, that in so doing, Catherine would be aware of his having heard her sister's secret, and that thus the delicacy of Frances would be wounded. He therefore remained quiet until his faithless mistress had passed out of the room; and then seizing his hat, he left the house offering up fervent thanks that he had discovered, ere too late, the duplicity, meanness, and total want of principle of her whom he had regarded as his wife, and filled with admiration for the amiable Frances, and anxiety for her safety.

He wrote a brief and explicit letter to Catherine next morning, acquainting her that he had seen her interview with Lord Wilmingham the night before, and declining all pretensions to her hand, he left her to explain the cause to her aunt, and for ever broke off the

projected alliance. The vain girl for a short time rejoiced at his dereliction, believing that she should now become the wife of Lord Wilmingham; but when having despatched a few hurried lines to that worthless man, announcing the fact, she received only a cold billet saying that he was called to France on business of importance, and wishing her all happiness, without even so much as hinting that they should ever meet again, her vanity and want of principle received its own punishment in the deep humiliation which the frustration of all her ambitious hopes entailed on her.

In a few months, Frances became the happy wife of Sir Richard Spencer, and is now the no less happy mother of four lovely children ; while Catherine continues to exhibit her faded charms at Cheltenham, with as little prospect of changing her name as her character, and is pointed at by moralising mothers and warning aunts, as a fearful example of the dangers of coquetting.

269

THE

BEAUTY AND HER SISTER.

PART I.

"Be sure, Rainsford, not to let Miss Emily put up her veil while she is walking, and keep her in the shade as much as possible," was the prohibition uttered by Lady Mansel to the upper nurse, previously to the morning promenade of the young lady.

"But why, Mrs. Rainsford, may I not put up my veil?" asked the child in a few minutes after, when this prohibition was referred to by the attentive nurse. "I am so warm, and I want so much to see all the pretty primroses, cowslips, and daisies around us, and this disagreeable veil does so torment me, making every

thing look as green as itself, and clinging to my lips every time I open them."

"Then don't open them, miss," was the reply of the sapient nurse, an advice that her youthful and lively charge was but little disposed to follow.

"But why," reiterated the child pertinaciously, "may I not put up my veil, as well as sister does hers?"

"Because your mamma is afraid that the sun would spoil your complexion, miss."

Why will it spoil mine more than sister's?" "Miss Mansel's skin is not so fair as yours, miss; and therefore, my lady is not so particular about it."

"Then I'm sure I wish that mine was as brown as the gypsy's we saw the other day, if I might but walk in the sunshine, and see the beautiful flowers, without this tiresome veil."

"You'll not wish that, miss, when you're grown up to be a woman."

"Yes, but I shall though, for what's the good of being fair?"

"It makes people handsome, miss."

"And what's the good of being handsome?"

"It's a great good, miss, for then they are admired."

“But grandmamma says it is better to be good than handsome, and loved than admired. What is the difference between being loved and admired, Rainsford?" asked Emily.

"I'm sure, miss, I hardly know," replied Rainsford, looking puzzled.

"That's what you always say," rejoined Emily poutingly, "when I ask you a question."

'Well, then, miss, as far as I knows, the difference is one admires those that are handsome, and loves those that are good."

"But could not one be handsome and good too, Rainsford?" demanded Emily, with a look that indicated a consciousness of being the first.

"I

I suppose it's very difficult, miss, seeing as how there are so very few in the world that are both."

"Grandmamma says that beauty is far inferior to goodness," said Emily, "for that on goodness depends our happiness."

"Her ladyship is right," said Mrs. Rainsford