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36 politeness. Mrs. Courtenaye having no feeling but that of gratitude for Henrietta's kindness, was eager to express it. "I am so glad you know her!" whispered she to her father: "do thank her for me." "My little rustic," said Lord Norbourne, "is most fortunate. Will Lady Marchmont allow her the honour of a farther acquaintance? Permit me to present my daughter, Mrs. Courtenaye." "And my husband," said Constance, timidly. "I have already the honour of Mr. Courtenaye's acquaintance," replied Lady Marchmont, with a coldness that she did not even attempt to conceal; for the image of Ethel—pale, sad, and wasting her youth in unavailing regret—arose too distinctly before her; and if it was present to her, how forcibly did she not recall it to Norbourne Courtenaye. Ethel, his still too much beloved Ethel, seemed actually present. What, at that moment, were her feelings? Did she hate, did she despise him? Was she—but that he