"Young, handsome, rich, and sensible—just as we used to paint in our conversation. Oh, how delightful!"
"Delightful indeed, to possess all those fine qualities; and who is the happy individual that is so blessed?" asked Charles Weston, who had been lingering in the walks with an umbrella to shield her on her return from an approaching shower.
"Oh!" said Julia, starting, "I did not know you were near me. I have been reading Anna's sweet letter," pressing the paper to her bosom as she spoke.
"Doubtless you must be done by this time, Julia, and," pointing to the clouds, "you had better hasten to the house. I knew you would be terrified at the lightning all alone by yourself in that summer-house, so I came to protect you."
"You are very good, Charles, but does it lighten?" said Julia in terror, and hastening her retreat to the dwelling.
"Your letter must have interested you deeply not to have noticed the thunder—you, who are so timid and fearful of the flashes."
"Foolishly fearful, you would say, if you were not afraid of hurting my feelings, I know," said Julia.
"It is a natural dread, and therefore not to be laughed at," answered Charles mildly.
"Then there is natural fear, but no natural love, Mr. Charles; now you are finely caught," cried Julia exultingly.
"Well, be it so. With me fear is very natural, and I can almost persuade myself love also."