him up to be a dirty Yankee tradesman, or a low, beggarly painter?"
"Yes, to obviate his becoming such a gentleman as his father."
"It's well you couldn't keep your own secret—ha, ha! It's well these women must be blabbing—if they haven't a friend to talk to, they must whisper their secrets to the fishes, or write them on the sand or something; and it's well too I wasn't over full to night, now I think of it, or I might have snoosed away and never dreamt of looking what my sweet lady was about—or I might have lacked the sense or the power to carry my point like a man, as I have done."
Leaving him to his self-congratulations, I rose to secure my manuscript, for I now remembered it had been left upon the drawing-room table, and I determined, if possible, to save myself the humiliation of seeing it in his hands again. I could not bear the idea of his amusing himself over my secret thoughts and
