Edwin saw enough in her manner to satisfy him that the result would be in his favor.  This would have made him supremely happy, could he have blotted out all recollection of Edith and his conduct towards her.  But, that was impossible.  Her form and face, as he had last seen them, were almost constantly before his eyes.  As he walked the streets, he feared lest he should meet her; and never felt pleasant in any company until certain that she was not there.

A few days after Mr. Florence had made an offer of his hand to Miss Linmore, and at a time when she was about making a favorable decision, that young lady happened to hear some allusion made to Edith Walter, in a tone that attracted her attention.  She immediately asked some questions in regard to her, when one of the persons conversing said—­

“Why, don’t you know about Edith?”

“I know that there is a great change in her.  But the reason of it I have not heard.”

“Indeed!  I thought it was pretty well known that her affections had been trifled with.”

“Who could trifle with the affections of so sweet, so good a girl,” said Miss Linmore, indignantly.  “The man who could turn from her, has no true appreciation of what is really excellent and exalted in woman’s character.  I have seen her only a few times; but, often enough to make me estimate her as one among the loveliest of our sex.”

“Edwin Florence is the man,” was replied.  “He won her heart, and then turned from her; leaving the waters of affection that had flowed at his touch to lose themselves in the sands at his feet.  There must be something base in the heart of a man who could trifle thus with such a woman.”

It required a strong effort on the part of Miss Linmore to conceal the instant turbulence of feeling that succeeded so unexpected a declaration.  But she had, naturally, great self-control, and this came to her aid.

“Edwin Florence!” said she, after a brief silence, speaking in a tone of surprise.

“Yes, he is the man.  Ah, me!  What a ruin has been wrought!  I never saw such a change in any one as Edith exhibits.  The very inspiration of her life is gone.  The love she bore towards Florence seems to have been almost the mainspring of her existence; for in touching that the whole circle of motion has grown feeble, and will, I fear, soon cease for ever.”

“Dreadful!  The falsehood of her lover has broken her heart.”

“I fear that it is even so.”

“Is she ill?  I have not seen her for a long time,” said Miss Linmore.

“Not ill, as one sick of a bodily disease; but drooping about as one whose spirits are broken, and who finds no sustaining arm to lean upon.  When you meet her, she strives to be cheerful, and appear into rested.  But the effort deceives no one.”

“Why did Mr. Florence act towards her as he has done?” asked Miss Linmore.

“A handsomer face and more brilliant exterior were the attractions, I am told.”