St. Martin's Eve: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"Indeed! To whom?"

"I won't betray you now," glancing at Adeline. "I will be compassionate."

"Pray don't trouble yourself about compassion for me, ma belle," returned Mr. St. John, in a provokingly slighting manner. "It will be thrown away."

"Compassion for you, Mr. St. John! Don't flatter yourself. I was thinking of another."

Adeline looked up: a sharp, perplexed glance.

"You are mysterious, Rose," said he, laughing.

"Yes. But I could speak out if I would"

"I dare you," answered Mr. St. John. "Speak away."

"You know there is one in England, who monopolizes all your letters--not to speak of your dreams."

"Rose!" exclaimed Mary Carr, a dim shadow of Rose's meaning darting uneasily across her. "How can you talk this nonsense to Mr. St. John?"