"
"My little friend without any heart! Of whom do you
speak? and what do you mean!"
"I speak of Miss Charlotte Henley, the nun,--she
who has all of heaven about her but its love--that
brilliant casket without its jewels--that woman--
yes, that YOUNG woman without any heart."
"Upon my word, sir, this is a very pretty poem you
have been reciting! but in my opinion, your
conclusion is wrong. As she refused to give you her
heart, it is the more probable that she has it yet in
that brilliant casket you speak of--"
"No--she never had one. She wants the greatest
charm that nature can give to a woman--a warm,
grateful, and affectionate heart."
"And pray, sir," said Maria, bending her eyes
inquisitively toward the youth, "if she want it, what
has she done with it!"
"She never had one, Miss Osgood. I will grant you
that she is lovely, exquisitely lovely! pure, gentle,
amiable, every epithet you may wish to apply, that
indicates nothing but acquired excellence: but as to
natural feelings, she is as cold as an icicle--in short
she is destitute of HEART--the thing of all others I
most prize in a woman, and for which I admire you
so much."
Maria laughed, but she coloured also. It had long
been obvious to herself, and to the world too, that
Delafield sought her society, now that he was not
admitted at Mr. Henley's, much more than that of
my other young woman in the city; but she thought
that she well understood the secret reason for this
preference, though the world might not.
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