"What did you think, fear, or conjecture, Miss Lansdale?" asked Gordon.
"O nothing—nothing of any consequence," said she, with real or assumed embarrassment.
"Now be frank, sweetest Alice," said Gordon, tenderly pressing her arm, which was still locked in his, to his side—"be frank, and tell me kindly what you thought."
"Why I knew that you admired my cousin, and I feared—pshaw—I mean that I thought you loved her," and she sighed again.
"O no, I could never love a block of marble, even if moulded into a Venus," said Gordon. "Believe me, sweet Alice, there must be some signs of sensibility—some little warmth of feeling, to awaken the affections of my heart. I could never love the twin-sister to the snow, and such I take Miss Claremont to be."
"So you are going to take an airing this morning, Commodore!" said Montague, as he saw the old man getting into a wagon in the street.
"Yes, Squire; you see I am taken from my work"—holding out a lame foot—"and so I am going on some business into the country."
"How long have you been lame? and what is the matter with your foot?" asked Montague.