A pause now ensued, which Sir Jaspar broke, by hesitatingly, yet with earnestness, saying, 'Sir Lyell Sycamore, I am not, you will do me the justice to believe, a sour old fellow, to delight in mischief; a surly old dog, to mar the pleasures of which I cannot partake; if, therefore, to answer what I mean to ask will thwart any of your projects, leave me and my curiosity in the lurch; if not, you will sensibly gratify me, by a little frank communication. I don't meddle with your affair with Flora; 'tis a blooming little wild rose-bud, but of too common a species to be worth analysing. This other young creature, however, whose wings your bird-lime seems also to have entangled—'

'How so?' interrupted Sir Lyell, jumping eagerly from the counter, 'what the d—l do you mean by that?'

'Not to be indiscreet, I promise you,' answered Sir Jaspar; 'but as I see the interest she takes in you,—'

'The d—l you do?' exclaimed Sir Lyell, in an accent of surprize, yet of transport.

Sir Jaspar now, ironically smiling, said, 'You don't know it, then, Sir Lyell? You are modest?—diffident? unconscious?—'

'My dear boy!' cried Sir Lyell, riotously, and approaching familiarly to embrace him, 'what a devilish kind office I shall owe you, if you can put any good notions into my head of that delicious girl!'

New doubts now destroying his recent suspicions, Sir Jaspar held back, positively refusing to clear up what had dropt from him, and laughingly saying, 'Far be it from me to put any such notions into your head! I believe it amply stored! All my desire is to get some out of it. If, therefore, you can tell me, or, rather, will tell me, who or what this young creature is, you will do a kind office to my imagination, for which I shall be really thankful. Who is she, then? And what is she?'

'D—l take me if I either know or care!' cried Sir Lyell, 'further than that she is a beauty of the first water; and that I should have adored her, exclusively, three months ago, if I had not believed her a thing of alabaster. But if you think her—'

'Not I! not I!—I know nothing of her!' interrupted Sir Jaspar: 'she is a rose planted in the snow, for aught I can tell! The more I see, the less I understand; the more I surmize, the further I seem from the mark. Honestly, then, whence does she come? How did you first see her? What does she do at Brighthelmstone?'

'May I go to old Nick if I am better informed than yourself! except that she sings and plays like twenty angels, and that all the women are jealous of her, and won't suffer a word to be said to her. However, I made up to her, at first, and should certainly have found her out, but for Melbury, who annoyed me with a long history of her virtue, and character, and Lady Aurora's friendship, and the d—l knows what; that made me so cursed sheepish, I was afraid of embarking in any measures of spirit. My sister, also, took lessons of her; and other game came into chase; and I should never have thought of her again, but that, when I went to town, a week or two ago, I learnt, from that Queen of the Crabs, Mrs Howel, that Melbury, in fact, knows no more of her than we do. He had nobody's world but her own for all her fine sentiments; so that he and his platonics would have kept me at bay no longer, if I had not believed her decamped from Brighthelmstone, upon hearing that you had got her lodging. How came you to turn her into the garret, my dear boy? Is that à la mode of your vieille cour?'