marrying her; you admired her originality, her fearlessness, her energy of body and mind; you delighted in her talent whatever that was, whether song, dance, or dramatic representation; you worshipped her beauty, which was of the sort after your own heart: but I am sure she filled a sphere from whence you would never have thought of taking a wife."
"Ingenious," remarked Hunsden; "whether true or not is another question. Meantime, don't you feel your little lamp of a spirit wax very pale beside such a girandole as Lucia's?"
"Yes."
"Candid, at least; and the Professor will soon be dissatisfied with the dim light you give?"
"Will you, monsieur?"
"My sight was always too weak to endure a blaze, Frances," and we had now reached the wicket.
I said, a few pages back, that this is a sweet summer evening; it is—there has been a series
