"You have brought tears into eyes that never should weep," cried Delafield, "and melancholy to a countenance that seems formed by nature to convey an idea of peaceful content."
Morton looked earnestly at the speaker for a moment, when a painful feeling seemed suddenly to seize on his heart—for his cheek grew paler, and his lip quivered with an agitation that apparently he could not control. Charlotte alone noticed the alteration, and, speaking in a low tone, she said—
"Do go home, George; you are far from being well—to oblige me, go home."
"To oblige you, I would do much more unwelcome biddings," he replied, with a slight colour; "but I believe you are right; and, having discharged my duty here, I will retire."
He rose, and, paying the customary compliments to the mistress of the mansion, withdrew. With him disappeared all the awakened interest of Charlotte in the scene.
In vain was Seymour Delafield attentive, polite, and even particularly so. That devotedness of admiration for which so many sighed, and which so many envied, was entirely thrown away upon Charlotte. She listened, she bowed, and she smiled—and, sometimes, she answered; but it was evidently without meaning or interest, until, wearied with his fruitless efforts to make an impression, and perhaps with a hope of exciting a little jealousy, he turned his attention to her more lively companion.
"Your mother's nursery, Miss Osgood," he cried, "ought on such an occasion to be tenantless."
"You think there are enough of us here to make it so," returned the lady, with an affected sigh.
"I really had not observed the number of your charming family—how many are there of you?"
"A baker's dozen."