Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. "So has the butterfly evil thoughts. When a mere child she fixed her affections upon a youth named Thames Darrell, whom her father brought up, and who perished, it is supposed, about nine years ago; and she has determined to remain faithful to his memory. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face.
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