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Mrs. Douglas could not be so deceived. She could not allow such a promising bud of unhappiness to wither without, as Othello says, "smelling it on the tree." She was willing to prevent Lady Portmore from persecuting Helen; but she could not consent to deprive herself of the pleasure of pointing out the shadows of the Teviot picture.

"Well, Mr. Douglas!" she said, as soon as they were alone, "well!"

"Well, my dear; what now?"

"Why, what do you think of it all?"

"All what, my dear?"

"You know very well what I mean, love, only you don't choose to speak."

"I am quite ready to speak, Anne; but what is it to be about?"

"About this evening, to be sure. What did you think of it?"

"Between ourselves, I thought it not quite so pleasant as most of the evenings we have passed here. It was rather dull, was it not?"

"Now, Mr. Douglas, don't be tiresome, you are only affecting ignorance; pray what do you think of the Teviots now?"

"Very much what I always did; that they are very charming people, and keep a very pleasant house, and I am sorry to leave them."

"And you think they are a happy couple?"

"Very—not to-day, by the by, for he is going away for