"Not so laughable an affair, neither, my dear," said Mr. Claremont, "as she was reading of the bravery and sufferings of the poor unfortunate"——
"Dear uncle!" again ejaculated Margarette.
"Poles," added Mr. Claremont, without noticing the interruption.
"The Poles? O yes," said Alice. "There was 'Thaddeus of Warsaw'—he was a divine creature! Well might one weep at the recital of his sufferings!"
"Doubtless, my dear—but Margarette's sympathies were moved by sufferings of a more recent date than his—by the narrative of bravery and suffering in all their nakedness—unadorned with the romance and poetry that Miss Porter has thrown around her hero. And to tell you the plain truth, Alice—I do like that sensibility better, that sympathizes with the actual miseries of our fellow creatures, even though there be nothing elegant, or poetic about them, than that which has tears only for some high-wrought tale of fictitious woe—the afflictions of some fallen prince, or the sorrows of some love-stricken swain, or lovelorn damsel."
"That, dear uncle, is as much as to say," said Alice, while her voice was choked with rising emotion—"that I can feel for sorrows of no other kind, and that you like Margarette's sensibility better than you do mine! I suppose you love her, too, more than you do your own poor, lone Alice! I feel that she is stealing every one's affection from me, though I love with so much more ardor than she does!" and she burst into tears.
All present felt exceedingly uncomfortable, and Margarette, who was really distressed, resolved to give a new turn to the conversation. Alice had seated herself on Mr. Claremont's knee, and thrown both her arms around his neck—so leaving him to soothe her wounded feelings in his own way, Margarette asked Montague some question, as foreign as possible to their recent conversation. The effort succeeded—the tears of Alice were soon dried, and the remainder of the evening passed very pleasantly.
One evening Montague and Gordon met the Claremont family, with a small select party, at the house of a friend. Gordon, as usual, secured a seat next Margarette, who was also attended by Alice, who had learned that to be near her, was the surest way to be near the idol of her imagination, the Black Prince. Montague likewise stood near them; for he was beginning to find, that there was something extremely attractive, even in Margarette's apparent coldness; or rather, that it was peculiarly interesting to observe marks of deep feeling, under so calm, so placid an exterior. Gordon recollected the conversation concerning Lord Nelson, and the effect produced on Margarette; and resolving in his turn to find a passage to her sensibilities, led the conversation to heroes and great men. He made some very eloquent remarks, as he apprehended, on heroism and greatness, which had previously been arranged with great care.
"Whom do you consider truly great men, Mr. Gordon?" asked Alice.