evening I paid some attention to an unmarried lady. If this be flirtation, at all events it is but a single act of flirtation—a single night's heedlessness and folly."

"I pray that it may be so," returned Mrs. Clay, "but forgive me, if I add, that I do not anticipate so sudden a termination to a friendship, already, if I may judge by appearances, so matured. I may be wrong; but still I think that I have good warrant for my apprehensions of your safety—that is, unless you will be warned by me, warning you in good time, as I do. A little time, a few months, nay a few weeks hence, and a warning voice from Heaven itself would be thrown away upon you. Going on as you are now, in a little time you will be inextricably involved, and if you escape at last with honour, believe me you will not escape without entailing very much of sorrow upon yourself, and more than yourself, Mr. Pultuney-but, perhaps, you do not like me to talk in this way?"

"Go on-” said Peregrine, his eye fixed on the ground as he spoke; "go on, pray."

"I have little more to observe," continued Mrs. Clay, "for if I have not said enough already, an hour's lecture will not avail. You have been in Calcutta longer than I have, and I dare say that you know much better than I do, how scandalous the people are how easily reports are spread-how contumaciously they are adhered to; now, as I have said before, supposing you escape in reality

the entanglement which is so much to be dreaded, still the people of Calcutta will not suffer you to escape; still evil reports may fly to England."

"It is true," said Peregrine, lifting up his face and confronting his fair adviser; "the people of Calcutta are very scandalous-very scandalous, inindeed-and I am afraid that they will talk, that they do talk; but I do not think much mischief will arise from it. You ought to know this, I am sure," he continued, laughing, as he looked slily into Mrs. Clay's face, "for the people talked desperately about your husband and Miss Skinner, and yet, in what respect are you the worse for it?”

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In none," returned the lady-" in none; we were fortunate-very fortunate, I admit, and cannot be too thankful; but you must not hope to escape in that way. Remember, that Miss Poggleton has friends, and I doubt not correspondents in this country. I had none-did not know a soul in India, before I came here, except Mr. Clay; no reports, therefore, reached me; but the affair itself was none the better for that—and so pray do not get up a copy of it."

"No," said Peregrine," that I will not-do you forgive me, for alluding to your own case?"

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Quite," said Mrs. Clay, " speaking so candidly as I did, of your affairs, how can I be angry with you for touching on mine-or rather my dear husband's, for, really, I had nothing at all to do with it. Go to him, however, for advice; for he ought

to know very well how to give it; and be sure, that he was quite right in 'wigging' you, as you call it, well. And now Mrs. Proteus has gone to the piano-we must not talk any more."

CHAPTER X.

In which Peregrine Pultuney continues to forfeit the good Opinion of the Reader.

THE next day-yes, the very next day, Peregrine Pultuney called at Mrs. Sweetenham's, and was received by the young lady alone in the drawing-room. She was at the piano when our hero entered the apartment, and though he certainly had no business to think any thing of the kind, he did think that the beautiful Augusta was looking, if possible, even more beautiful, than she had looked on the preceding night. Such a skin-such eyesand such hair, could not be injured by facing the daylight.

"Do not move," said Peregrine, as having shaken hands with Miss Sweetenham, he saw that she was about to rise from the music-stool; "do not move, pray-you remember your promise about singing to me?"

"Oh! yes-perfectly, I have not forgotten it," returned Miss Sweetenham, with much vivacity;

"but you must remember that you made a promise too, and that my singing to you was only conditional."

"Yes," said Peregrine; "but I have not had time to fulfil my part of the agreement."

"Not time-oh! dilatory-most recreant of knights poetic. Is not the fitting time for the performance of such a task as I set you the witching hour of midnight, Mr. Pultuney?—What other time -what better time could you have wished? I am afraid that you are but half a poet after all."

"Not even that," returned Peregrine; "not even that, I am afraid. What will you say to me, if I plead, in extenuation of the fault, which you assign to me, that I was most desperately sleepymost unpoetically sleepy-and could not have written a line for my life."

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Shocking-barbarous !" exclaimed Miss Sweetenham; "but I quite forgot, I must have bored you very sadly; no wonder that you felt sleepy, after the dose of lethargic conversation that I forced upon you."

"Dear me!" cried Peregrine, " I did not mean that-how could you suppose me to mean that!"

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Why, you hinted it pretty plainly," rejoined Miss Sweetenham. "You acknowledge the effect, and yet deny the cause; you say that you went home desperately sleepy."

And so I did," replied Peregrine, "and had
You do not know

very good reason for feeling so.