"And do you not feel anxious to set off your charms to the greatest advantage?" demanded the old woman. "How well would pearls become your soft and shining hair! how dazzling would your polished arms appear when clasped by costly bracelets! how lovely would be your little ears with brilliant pendants! how elegant would be your figure when clad in rustling silk or rich satin! how the whiteness of your bosom would eclipse that of the finest lace! Ah! miss, you are your own enemy—you are your own enemy!"
"You forget that I have a father," said Ellen,—"a father who loves me, and whom I love,—a father who would die if he knew of his daughter's disgrace."
"Fathers do not die so easily," cried the old hag. "They habituate themselves to every thing, as well as other people. And then—think of the luxuries and comforts with which you could surround the old man."
"We will not talk any more upon that subject," said Ellen firmly. "I well understand your meaning; and I am not prudish nor false enough to affect a virtue which I do not possess. But I have my interests to consult; and it does not suit my ideas of happiness to accept the proposal implied by your language. In a word, can you find me any more employment?"
"I know no more Mesmerists," answered the old hag, in a surly tone.
"Then you can do nothing for me?"
"I did not say that—I did not say that," cried the hag. "It is true I can get you upon the stage; but perhaps that pursuit will not please you."
"Upon the stage!" ejaculated Ellen. "In what capacity?"
"As a figurante, or dancer in the ballet, at a great theatre," replied the old woman.
"But I should be known—I should be recognised," said Ellen.