"
"This is hardly right, Godfrey," said his father, "you promised Anthony
to start fair in attempting to win the good opinion of Miss Whitmore,
and now you are trying to throw him altogether into the back-ground."
"Ah, my dear sir, that was all very well in theory, but I found myself
unable to reduce it to practice. I tell you, Anthony, that I am over
head and ears in love with Miss Whitmore, and if you wish to die a
natural death, you must not attempt to rival me with the lady."
"And poor Mary--what will become of her?"
Godfrey flashed an angry glance at his cousin.
"How can you name that _peasant_ in the same breath with Miss Whitmore?"
"A few days ago, Godfrey, you preferred the simple graces of the country
girl to the refined lady."
"My taste is improving, you see," said Godfrey, filling his glass to the
brim. "And here--in the sparkling juice of the grape, let all
remembrance of my boyish love be drowned."
Anthony sighed, and sank into a fit of abstraction, while Colonel
Hurdlestone joined his son in a bumper to the health of the lady.
In spite of Godfrey's avowal, Anthony could not bring himself to regard
Juliet Whitmore with indifference; nor did he consider it any breach of
honor endeavoring to make himself agreeable in her eyes. His attentions,
though less marked than his cousin's, were of a more delicate and tender
nature, appealing less to female vanity, and more directly to her heart
and understanding; and there were moments when the young lover fancied
that he was not an object of indifference.
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