216 DISAPPROBATION. 



We saw in a moment how the matter stood ; Emily WES 

 really going to the fancy ball ; and this, of the Queen of Fays, 

 was the fantastic and too bewitching costume she had chosen to 

 assume. Knowing her kind heart, and having believed that 

 its best affections had been gained by her estimable husband, 

 we were vexed and disappointed in our young relation, and felt 

 it only right to give, if we could, a check to her buoyant vanity, 

 by letting her feel the weight of our disapproval, shown, if not 

 expressed. "So I see, Emily," said I, in the coldest tone; 

 " I see, after all, that you are going to this foolish ball." 



The beaming countenance of the beautiful sylph darkened in 

 a moment, like a cosmoramic landscape. "And why not?" 

 returned she pettishly : " I suppose then you don't approve." 



" My approbation can be of very little import, if you 

 possess that of your own heart, and that of your husband. 

 Under what character, pray, does he attend you ? I suppose he 

 plays Oberon to your Titania?" 



Emily's face reddened. Some strong emotion heaved her 

 bosom, and I saw that pride alone kept the starting tears from 

 overflowing. " Charles," said she, with an attempt at assumed 

 indifference, " will not be there at all ; I am to go with Lady 

 Forrester." 



We felt more vexed than ever, and wished to say something 

 which might yet hinder the young wife's intention ; but while 

 considering what that something should be, or whether, indeed, 

 our age and slight relationship gave a sufficient right to say 

 anything, we looked down for a moment on our still open book. 

 Of that moment Emily availed herself to effect an escape, and 

 on raising our eyes we only caught a glimpse of her glittering 

 wings as she glided through the door-way. Our first impulse 

 was to recall her ; our next thought, to leave her to herself. 

 If her better nature still struggled, remonstrance of ours, we 

 considered, might only serve to set wounded pride against it ; 

 and wounded passions, like wounded bravoes, fight most des- 

 perately. We saw no more of our young hostess till the hour 



