you like, Miss Lilly, to sit closer to the flames?

    I ans.

    You like to be cool, he says.

    I like the shadows.

    akes it as a kind of invitation, lifts , tc rousers and sits beside me, not too close, still racted by t whe shadows.

    Mr rey stands at ts a glass. My uncle tled into s est p, sir, by seventy years! tions erature no shoes my horse . . .

    I stifle a yaurns to me. I say, Forgive me Vf Rivers.

    care for your uncles sub ject.

    ill speaks in a murmur; and I am obliged to make my oary, I say t is noto me.

    Again alks on It is only curious, to see a lady left cool and unmoved, by t ion.

    But t you speak of; and arent tter best, moved least? I catc from experience of t from my reading merely. But I s—o e a palling in eries of  too often to tiny of wafer and wine.

    blink. At last  laughs.

    You are very uncommon, Miss Lilly

    I look aand.

    Aone is a bitter one. Perion a sort of misfortune.

    On trary.  be a misfortune, to be ance, in tter of a gentlemans attentions. I am a connoisseur of all ties of metleman migo compliment a lady

    s e o . ted indeed,  only to compliment you.

    I  a gentlemen s, t one.

    Per in t you are used to. But in life—a great many; and one t is chief.

    I supposed, I say, t t ten for.

    O, but ten for somet of—money. Every gentleman minds t. And those of us who are

    not quite so gentlemanly as  most of all.—I am sorry to embarrass yo