The next day I accompanied my uncle and aunt to a dinner-party atMr. Wilmot's. He had two ladies staying with him: his nieceAnnabella, a fine dashing girl, or rather young woman, - of somefive-and-twenty, too great a flirt to be married, according to herown assertion, but greatly admired by the gentlemen, whouniversally pronounced her a splendid woman; and her gentle cousin,Milicent Hargrave, who had taken a violent fancy to me, mistakingme for something vastly better than I was. And I, in return, wasvery fond of her. I should entirely exclude poor Milicent in mygeneral animadversions against the ladies of my acquaintance. Butit was not on her account, or her cousin's, that I have mentionedthe party: it was for the sake of another of Mr. Wilmot's guests,to wit Mr. Huntingdon. I have good reason to remember his presencethere, for this was the last time I saw him.

He did not sit near me at dinner; for it was his fate to hand in acapacious old dowager, and mine to be handed in by Mr. Grimsby, afriend of his, but a man I very greatly disliked: there was asinister cast in his countenance, and a mixture of lurking ferocityand fulsome insincerity in his demeanour, that I could not awaywith. What a tiresome custom that is, by-the-by - one among themany sources of factitious annoyance of this ultra-civilised life.If the gentlemen must lead the ladies into the dining-room, whycannot they take those they like best?

I am not sure, however, that Mr. Huntingdon would have taken me, ifhe had been at liberty to make his own selection. It is quitepossible he might have chosen Miss Wilmot; for she seemed bent uponengrossing his attention to herself, and he seemed nothing loth topay the homage she demanded. I thought so, at least, when I sawhow they talked and laughed, and glanced across the table, to theneglect and evident umbrage of their respective neighbours - andafterwards, as the gentlemen joined us in the drawing-room, whenshe, immediately upon his entrance, loudly called upon him to bethe arbiter of a dispute between herself and another lady, and heanswered the summons with alacrity, and decided the questionwithout a moment's hesitation in her favour - though, to mythinking, she was obviously in the wrong - and then stood chattingfamiliarly with her and a group of other ladies; while I sat withMilicent Hargrave at the opposite end of the room, looking over thelatter's drawings, and aiding her with my critical observations andadvice, at her particular desire. But in spite of my efforts toremain composed, my attention wandered from the drawings to themerry group, and against my better judgment my wrath rose, anddoubtless my countenance lowered; for Milicent, observing that Imust be tired of her daubs and scratches, begged I would join thecompany now, and defer the examination of the remainder to anotheropportunity. But while I was assuring her that I had no wish tojoin them, and was not tired, Mr. Huntingdon himself came up to thelittle round table at which we sat.

'Are these yours?' said he, carelessly taking up one of thedrawings.

'No, they are Miss Hargrave's.'

'Oh! well, let's have a look at them.'

And, regardless of Miss Hargrave's protestations that they were notworth looking at, he drew a chair to my side, and receiving thedrawings, one by one from my hand, successively scanned them over,and threw them on the table, but said not a word about them, thoughhe was talking all the time. I don't know what Milicent Hargravethought of such conduct, but I found his conversation extremelyinteresting; though, as I afterwards discovered, when I came toanalyse it, it was chiefly confined to quizzing the differentmembers of the company present; and albeit he made some cleverremarks, and some excessively droll ones, I do not think the wholewould appear anything very particular, if written here, without theadventitious aids of look, and tone, and gesture, and thatineffable but indefinite charm, which cast a halo over all he didand said, and which would have made it a delight to look in hisface, and hear the music of his voice, if he had been talkingpositive nonsense - and which, moreover, made me feel so bitteragainst my aunt when she put a stop to this enjoyment, by comingcomposedly forward, under pretence of wishing to see the drawings,that she cared and knew nothing about, and while making believe toexamine them, addressing herself to Mr. Huntingdon, with one of hercoldest and most repellent aspects, and beginning a series of themost common-place and formidably formal questions and observations,on purpose to wrest his attention from me - on purpose to vex me,as I thought: and having now looked through the portfolio, I leftthem to their TETE-E-TETE, and seated myself on a sofa, quite apartfrom the company - never thinking how strange such conduct wouldappear, but merely to indulge, at first, the vexation of themoment, and subsequently to enjoy my private thoughts.

But I was not left long alone, for Mr. Wilmot, of all men the leastwelcome, took advantage of my isolated position to come and planthimself beside me. I had flattered myself that I had soeffectually repulsed his advances on all former occasions, that Ihad nothing more to apprehend from his unfortunate predilection;but it seems I was mistaken: so great was his confidence, eitherin his wealth or his remaining powers of attraction, and so firmhis conviction of feminine weakness, that he thought himselfwarranted to return to the siege, which he did with renovatedardour, enkindled by the quantity of wine he had drunk - acircumstance that rendered him infinitely the more disgusting; butgreatly as I abhorred him at that moment, I did not like to treathim with rudeness, as I was now his guest, and had just beenenjoying his hospitality; and I was no hand at a polite butdetermined rejection, nor would it have greatly availed me if Ihad, for he was too coarse-minded to take any repulse that was notas plain and positive as his own effrontery. The consequence was,that he waxed more fulsomely tender, and more repulsively warm, andI was driven to the very verge of desperation, and about to say Iknow not what, when I felt my hand, that hung over the arm of thesofa, suddenly taken by another and gently but fervently pressed.Instinctively, I guessed who it was, and, on looking up, was lesssurprised than delighted to see Mr. Huntingdon smiling upon me. Itwas like turning from some purgatorial fiend to an angel of light,come to announce that the season of torment was past.

'Helen,' said he (he frequently called me Helen, and I neverresented the freedom), 'I want you to look at this picture. Mr.Wilmot will excuse you a moment, I'm sure.'

I rose with alacrity. He drew my arm within his, and led me acrossthe room to a splendid painting of Vandyke's that I had noticedbefore, but not sufficiently examined. After a moment of silentcontemplation, I was beginning to comment on its beauties andpeculiarities, when, playfully pressing the hand he still retainedwithin his arm, he interrupted me with, - 'Never mind the picture:it was not for that I brought you here; it was to get you away fromthat scoundrelly old profligate yonder, who is looking as if hewould like to challenge me for the affront.'

'I am very much obliged to you,' said I. 'This is twice you havedelivered me from such unpleasant companionship.'

'Don't be too thankful,' he answered: 'it is not all kindness toyou; it is partly from a feeling of spite to your tormentors thatmakes me delighted to do the old fellows a bad turn, though I don'tthink I have any great reason to dread them as rivals. Have I,Helen?'

'You know I detest them both.'

'And me?'

'I have no reason to detest you.'

'But what are your sentiments towards me? Helen - Speak! How doyou regard me?'

And again he pressed my hand; but I feared there was more ofconscious power than tenderness in his demeanour, and I felt he hadno right to extort a confession of attachment from me when he hadmade no correspondent avowal himself, and knew not what to answer.At last I said, - 'How do you regard me?'

'Sweet angel, I adore you! I - '

'Helen, I want you a moment,' said the distinct, low voice of myaunt, close beside us. And I left him, muttering maledictionsagainst his evil angel.

'Well, aunt, what is it? What do you want?' said I, following herto the embrasure of the window.

'I want you to join the company, when you are fit to be seen,'returned she, severely regarding me; 'but please to stay here alittle, till that shocking colour is somewhat abated, and your eyeshave recovered something of their natural expression. I should beashamed for anyone to see you in your present state.'

Of course, such a remark had no effect in reducing the 'shockingcolour'; on the contrary, I felt my face glow with redoubled fireskindled by a complication of emotions, of which indignant, swellinganger was the chief. I offered no reply, however, but pushed asidethe curtain and looked into the night - or rather into the lamp-litsquare.

'Was Mr. Huntingdon proposing to you, Helen?' inquired my toowatchful relative.

'No.'

'What was he saying then? I heard something very like it.'

'I don't know what he would have said, if you hadn't interruptedhim.'

'And would you have accepted him, Helen, if he had proposed?'

'Of course not - without consulting uncle and you.'

'Oh! I'm glad, my dear, you have so much prudence left. Well,now,' she added, after a moment's pause, 'you have made yourselfconspicuous enough for one evening. The ladies are directinginquiring glances towards us at this moment, I see: I shall jointhem. Do you come too, when you are sufficiently composed toappear as usual.'

'I am so now.'

'Speak gently then, and don't look so malicious,' said my calm, butprovoking aunt. 'We shall return home shortly, and then,' sheadded with solemn significance, 'I have much to say to you.'

So I went home prepared for a formidable lecture. Little was saidby either party in the carriage during our short transit homewards;but when I had entered my room and thrown myself into an easy-chair, to reflect on the events of the day, my aunt followed methither, and having dismissed Rachel, who was carefully stowingaway my ornaments, closed the door; and placing a chair beside me,or rather at right angles with mine, sat down. With due deferenceI offered her my more commodious seat. She declined it, and thusopened the conference: 'Do you remember, Helen, our conversationthe night but one before we left Staningley?'

'Yes, aunt.'

'And do you remember how I warned you against letting your heart bestolen from you by those unworthy of its possession, and fixingyour affections where approbation did not go before, and wherereason and judgment withheld their sanction?'

'Yes; but my reason - '

'Pardon me - and do you remember assuring me that there was nooccasion for uneasiness on your account; for you should never betempted to marry a man who was deficient in sense or principle,however handsome or charming in other respects he might be, for youcould not love him; you should hate - despise - pity - anything butlove him - were not those your words?'

'Yes; but - '

'And did you not say that your affection must be founded onapprobation; and that, unless you could approve and honour andrespect, you could not love?'

'Yes; but I do approve, and honour, and respect - '

'How so, my dear? Is Mr. Huntingdon a good man?'

'He is a much better man than you think him.'

'That is nothing to the purpose. Is he a good man?'

'Yes - in some respects. He has a good disposition.'

'Is he a man of principle?'

'Perhaps not, exactly; but it is only for want of thought. If hehad some one to advise him, and remind him of what is right - '

'He would soon learn, you think - and you yourself would willinglyundertake to be his teacher? But, my dear, he is, I believe, fullten years older than you - how is it that you are so beforehand inmoral acquirements?'

'Thanks to you, aunt, I have been well brought up, and had goodexamples always before me, which he, most likely, has not; and,besides, he is of a sanguine temperament, and a gay, thoughtlesstemper, and I am naturally inclined to reflection.'

'Well, now you have made him out to be deficient in both sense andprinciple, by your own confession - '

'Then, my sense and my principle are at his service.'

'That sounds presumptuous, Helen. Do you think you have enough forboth; and do you imagine your merry, thoughtless profligate wouldallow himself to be guided by a young girl like you?'

'No; I should not wish to guide him; but I think I might haveinfluence sufficient to save him from some errors, and I shouldthink my life well spent in the effort to preserve so noble anature from destruction. He always listens attentively now when Ispeak seriously to him (and I often venture to reprove his randomway of talking), and sometimes he says that if he had me always byhis side he should never do or say a wicked thing, and that alittle daily talk with me would make him quite a saint. It may hepartly jest and partly flattery, but still - '

'But still you think it may be truth?'

'If I do think there is any mixture of truth in it, it is not fromconfidence in my own powers, but in his natural goodness. And youhave no right to call him a profligate, aunt; he is nothing of thekind.'

'Who told you so, my dear? What was that story about his intriguewith a married lady - Lady who was it? - Miss Wilmot herself wastelling you the other day?'

'It was false - false!' I cried. 'I don't believe a word of it.'

'You think, then, that he is a virtuous, well-conducted young man?'

'I know nothing positive respecting his character. I only knowthat I have heard nothing definite against it - nothing that couldbe proved, at least; and till people can prove their slanderousaccusations, I will not believe them. And I know this, that if hehas committed errors, they are only such as are common to youth,and such as nobody thinks anything about; for I see that everybodylikes him, and all the mammas smile upon him, and their daughters -and Miss Wilmot herself - are only too glad to attract hisattention.'

'Helen, the world may look upon such offences as venial; a fewunprincipled mothers may be anxious to catch a young man of fortunewithout reference to his character; and thoughtless girls may beglad to win the smiles of so handsome a gentleman, without seekingto penetrate beyond the surface; but you, I trusted, were betterinformed than to see with their eyes, and judge with theirperverted judgment. I did not think you would call these venialerrors!'

'Nor do I, aunt; but if I hate the sins, I love the sinner, andwould do much for his salvation, even supposing your suspicions tobe mainly true, which I do not and will not believe.'

'Well, my dear, ask your uncle what sort of company he keeps, andif he is not banded with a set of loose, profligate young men, whomhe calls his friends, his jolly companions, and whose chief delightis to wallow in vice, and vie with each other who can run fastestand furthest down the headlong road to the place prepared for thedevil and his angels.'

'Then I will save him from them.'

'Oh, Helen, Helen! you little know the misery of uniting yourfortunes to such a man!'

'I have such confidence in him, aunt, notwithstanding all you say,that I would willingly risk my happiness for the chance of securinghis. I will leave better men to those who only consider their ownadvantage. If he has done amiss, I shall consider my life wellspent in saving him from the consequences of his early errors, andstriving to recall him to the path of virtue. God grant mesuccess!'

Here the conversation ended, for at this juncture my uncle's voicewas heard from his chamber, loudly calling upon my aunt to come tobed. He was in a bad humour that night; for his gout was worse.It had been gradually increasing upon him ever since we came totown; and my aunt took advantage of the circumstance next morningto persuade him to return to the country immediately, withoutwaiting for the close of the season. His physician supported andenforced her arguments; and contrary to her usual habits, she sohurried the preparations for removal (as much for my sake as myuncle's, I think), that in a very few days we departed; and I sawno more of Mr. Huntingdon. My aunt flatters herself I shall soonforget him - perhaps she thinks I have forgotten him already, for Inever mention his name; and she may continue to think so, till wemeet again - if ever that should be. I wonder if it will?