AN ENEMY IX THE CAMP. 17^ 



fiddles are tuning, and, I suppose, Will Beauchamp, having 

 dined here, has engaged you for the first dance ;" which coming 

 to claim, Beauchamp approached and asked Selina for the second. 



" I scarcely know whether I shall honour you or not, for, as 

 Nod says, you still look very seedy and white about the gills, 

 and I don't consider hopping and jumping about likely to im- 

 prove your health." 



"Sauntering quietly through the figure will dome no harm, 

 3elina." 



" Well, then, I will take you under my sage care, Mr. Will, 

 to prevent your falling into worse hands." 



On accepting Beauchamp' s arm, Blanche said, anxiously, " I 

 fear you are acting very imprudently in dancing to-night, 

 William ?" 



" No, dear Blanche ; a little exercise will do me good now ; 

 but I shall not exceed two or three dances, and then sit down 

 to criticise the performance of others, and make all kinds of 

 ill-natured speeches, as some people will of me to-night." 



"What do you mean, dear William?" 



" The Throseby Hall lady looks daggers at me, and I verily 

 believe, in her heart, would rather have seen you in the power 

 of that villain and made wretched for life, than witness your 

 happiness with those you love." 



"Indeed, William, I hope not, and trust you are mistaken." 



" I am not singular, dear girl, as Bob Conyers also thinks 

 she hates me, cordially, for my interference ; but notwithstand- 

 ing her forbidding looks, she shall receive no incivility from me 

 on your account, although I hope never to see you under her 

 control acrain." 



" Indeed, William, I am so happy with dear Aunt Gordon, 

 that I never wish to leave the Priory, where I feel quite at 

 home, which I never did at Throseby." 



Blanche's beaming looks and light, happy spirits, when dancing 

 with Beauchamp, would have satisfied any but the most deter- 

 mined sceptic that Lord Yancourt was not the object of her 

 choice ; and the anxious, thoughtful glance sometimes directed 

 to his face, did not escape the observation of some, who could 

 read the language of love. Captain Melville was one of that 

 number, who, turning to Conyers, said, " My surmises are now 

 confirmed, Bob; Beauchamp has won the prize, and barring 

 myself of course, there is no man I know more deserving, and 

 whom I would rather see the husband of that sweet girl." 



" You are jumping to conclusions in too great a hurry," re- 



