hate them so, that I wish I was never to see them again."

"His acquaintance, then," said Cecilia, "has done you but an ill
office, and happy it would be for you could you forget you had ever
made it."

"O, I shall never do that! for the more I think of him, the more I am
out of humour with every body else! O Miss Beverley! we have a sad
acquaintance indeed! I'm sure I don't wonder my brother was so ashamed
of them. They are all so rude, and so free, and put one so out of
countenance,--O how different is this person you are thinking of! he
would not distress anybody, or make one ashamed for all the world!
_You_ only are like him! always gentle, always obliging!--sometimes I
think you must be his sister--once, too, I heard--but that was
contradicted."

A deep sigh escaped Cecilia at this speech; she guessed too well what
she might have heard, and she knew too well how it might be
contradicted.

"Surely, _you_ cannot be unhappy, Miss Beverley!" said Henrietta, with
a look of mingled surprise and concern.

"I have much, I own," cried Cecilia, assuming more chearfulness, "to be
thankful for, and I endeavour not to forget it."

"O how often do I think," cried Henrietta, "that you, madam, are the
happiest person in the world! with every thing at your own disposal,--
with every body in love with you, with all the money that you can wish
for, and so much sweetness that nobody can envy you it! with power to