"Assuredly; but to reply to your question. I should know perfectly well that her smile was the untrue manœuvre of a coquette. Ah! Charles! Charles! may you never know what it is to see a false smile in woman—cold and chilling—the glitter of sunlight upon snow. It is worse than frowns!"
"Ernest, you are a strange person," said Hoffland; "you seem determined to misjudge this young girl, who is not as bad as you think her, my life upon it! So, frown or smile, you are determined to hate her?"
"I do not hate her! Would to Heaven I could get as far from love for her, as the neutral ground of indifference."
"Unhappy man!" said Hoffland; "you pray to be delivered from love!"
"Devoutly."
"It is our greatest happiness."
"And deepest misery."
"No, Charles, I neither hate men nor women; I do not permit this disappointment to sour my heart. But I cannot become an advocate of the feeling which has caused me such cruel suffering. Let us say no more. We shall meet at the ball, and then you will be able to judge whether I am mistaken in the estimate I place upon this young girl's character. She is beautiful, haughty, suspicious, and unfeeling: it tears my heart to say it, but it is true. You will never after this evening doubt my unhappiness, or charge me with error."
"Probably not," said Hoffland, turning away his head; "I will make your error plain to you—but promise to speak of it no more."