"
"So all tell me," replied Euphemia; "so all say who neither possess
the sensibility nor the candor to allow that great merit may exist
without being associated with great rank. Yet," cried she, in a more
animated tone, "I have my doubts, Mary, of his being what he seems.
Did you observe the sick gentleman call him _My lord?_"
"I did," returned Mary, "and I was not surprised. Such manners as Mr.
Constantine's are not to be acquired in a cottage."
"Dear, dear Mary!" cried Euphemia, flinging her ivory arms round her
neck; "how I love you for these words! You are generous, you think
nobly, and I will no longer hesitate to--to--" and breaking off, she
hid her head in Miss Beaufort's bosom.
Mary's heart throbbed, her cheeks grew pale, and almost unconsciously
she wished to stop the tide of Miss Dundas's confidence.
"Dear Euphemia!" answered she, "your regard for this interesting
exile is very praiseworthy. But beware of----." She hesitated; a
remorseful twitch in her own breast stayed the warning that was
rising to her tongue; and blushing at a motive she could not at the
instant assign to friendship, selfishness, or to any interest she
would not avow to herself, she touched the cheek of Euphemia with her
quivering lips.
Euphemia had finished the sentence for her, and raising her head,
exclaimed, "What should I fear in esteeming Mr.
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