At your age, dear girl, you have naturally romance and feeling enough of your own without seeking them in books." "But, dear madam," said Evelyn, standing up for her favourite, "his writings do not consist of romance and feeling only; they are not exaggerated, they are so simple, so truthful." "Did you ever meet him ?" asked Lady Vargrave.
"Yes," returned Mrs.Leslie, "once, when he was a gay, fair-haired boy.
His father resided in the next county, and we met at a country-house.
Mr.Maltravers himself has an estate near my daughter in B-----shire, but he does not live on it; he has been some years abroad,--a strange character!" "Why does he write no more ?" said Evelyn; "I have read his works so often, and know his poetry so well by heart, that I should look forward to something new from him as an event." "I have heard, my dear, that he has withdrawn much from the world and its objects,--that he has lived greatly in the East.

The death of a lady to whom he was to have been married is said to have unsettled and changed his character.

Since that event he has not returned to England.
Lord Vargrave can tell you more of him than I." "Lord Vargrave thinks of nothing that is not always before the world," said Evelyn.
"I am sure you wrong him," said Mrs.Leslie, looking up and fixing her eyes on Evelyn's countenance; "for _you_ are not before the world." Evelyn slightly--very slightly--pouted her pretty lip, but made no answer.

She took up the music, and seating herself at the piano, practised the airs.

Lady Vargrave listened with emotion; and as Evelyn in a voice exquisitely sweet, though not powerful, sang the words, her mother turned away her face, and half unconsciously, a few tears stole silently down her cheek.
When Evelyn ceased, herself affected,--for the lines were impressed with a wild and melancholy depth of feeling,--she came again to her mother's side, and seeing her emotion, kissed away the tears from the pensive eyes.