My friend, a distinguished artist, wished to make a sketch, if you do not object, of this young lady's very"-- "Pretty little face," quoth Vance, taking up the dis course.

"Mr.Rugge, this morning, was willing,--I understand that your grandchild refused.
We are come here to see if she will be more complaisant under your own roof, or Under Mr.Merle's, which, I take it, is the same thing for the present."-- Sophy had sidled up to Lionel.

He might not have been flattered if he knew why she preferred him to Vance.

She looked on him as a boy, a fellow-child; and an instinct, moreover, told her, that more easily through him than his shrewd-looking bearded guest could she attain the object of her cupidity,--"three pounds!" "Three pounds!" whispered Sophy, with the tones of an angel, into Lionel's thrilling ear.
MR.

WAIFE.--"Sir, I will be frank with you." At that ominous commencement, Mr.Vance recoiled, and mechanically buttoned his trousers pocket.