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very important point of his wife's dress. Then she tried a little sportive condescension, in the shape of a joke to Eliza on Lord Beaufort's attentions; and that made Eliza colour till the tears came into her eyes, as, in the primitiveness and innocence of her home education, she looked upon love and lovers as sacred mysteries never to be profaned by a jest; and, moreover, expected that Eskdale Castle would fall down at the mere idea of Lord Beaufort's condescending to admire her. Lady Portmore finished by what she thought a noble touch of magnanimity. Taking Mary's hand, and saying in an audible whisper, "You must forgive me, my love, if I distressed you by what I said of Colonel Stuart. You know how thoughtless I am; but we won't allude to that history any more. Pray say you forgive me." What a woman! and what a fine quality, what an absolute virtue Tact is. Lady Portmore never had a grain of it—a misfortune that fell more heavily on her friends than on herself.