Poor Grace found how dangerous the most common conversation could become, under any circumstances of mystery. This reflection turned her mind on her own misdoings, and she thought how wrong Constance would think she had been, and that herself would never have got into such a situatior. She however answered, "I was only thinking, mamma, if they did, how shocked Constance would be."

"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Leslie, half smiling, "I think you have rather odd thoughts just now." Grace was afraid of saying another word.

CHAPTER XXXII.

Little again! nothing but low and little!

Shakspeare.

WE have forestalled some of the events of the next week, and must now continue them. Grace accompanied her young friends to another party close by; it was a small and a quiet one,—ño cards and no dancing; there were puzzles and quiet games. George found out that Grace could play at chess, and played with her. She was a better player than he expected, and she beat him the two first games: the first he thought accident, but the second he was provoked about, and determined to take more pains. Grace was very anxious about this third game, certainly, for George had been rather provoking and contemptuous. At first he wanted to take off his queen, and then to give her the move. She thought this only good-natured; but after being beaten the first game, he talked of its being "all chance, as if he could not beat any little girl!" Grace was a little girl, and she did not care for being thought so; but she did not like to be called so by George before strangers. George made such a racket about it, that a good many of the company were attracted, and two or three gentlemen came and looked Grace was very glad to beat, but said nothing. One of the gentlemen was very much pleased, and said, "Why don't you crow? why don't you clap your wings, little bird? if I were you I should stand upon the table and crow!"

over.

Grace laughed, but she was very much pleased.

George would have another game, and a very tough one

it was. Grace lost her queen, and George triumphed in rather an unmanly manner. Soon after, Grace forked George's queen with her knight. It was neatly done, and the gentlemen were delighted. After this the game became tiresome, and some gave over looking on. It was a drawn game. Grace was more than satisfied: she did not expect to win, for she saw George was a better player than she was. The gentlemen however made a good deal of her play. Grace had good sense; she was not persuaded to believe she played a bit better than she thought before. As they put away the men, for they were very handsome, and there was a box for them, Grace said to George, he must beat her some other time.

"Ah, you think I can't," said George, "but I can, and you'll see!"

Grace said she did not think so--that she knew he would beat in the end, for he played a better game than she did.

George neither believed her sincerity nor her judgment. He did not think her good enough for the one, nor clever enough for the other. He did her wrong. Grace saw it, and it made her smile to herself.

This evening also the elders of the family dined out; and Mrs. Leslie told Grace that some old friends of hers wished to see her little girl, and she must take her some day. Grace wondered very much why people should like to see children, and said she was sure they only said so from kindness." I am sure, mamma," continued she, "I know some ladies, who had rather I was not in the room to be spoken to, and yet they talk to me, and to you of me.

Mrs. Leslie told her little girl she had better not say things of that kind, nor think them,--but speak when she was spoken to, try never to be in the way, and be obliged to any body who was kind to her.

"But, mamma," said Grace, "I really cannot help liking some people, even if they are grown up, better than others I hope that is not wrong. Now I am sure I should like aunt William and aunt Stanley, if they were not my aunts; and I should like you, if you were not my mamma;" and the tears started into poor Grace's eyes at the supposition." And then," continued she, "I am sure there are other people I should not like much if they were my aunts; is this wrong, mamma ?”

"It depends on your reasons, my dear child; but you know you have not much now to do with grown people, so you need not think about it."

After a pause of consideration, Grace said, "What a good remark, mamma, that is of yours, for now I think of it, I always can tell my reasons for not liking any body of my own sort of age, but I never can find out exactly why I don't like grown up people. Of course it is as you say, and I need not think about it. Do you think I shall be able to tell why I do not like grown people when I am grown up myself? can you, mamma ?"

"Of course, my dear child, I think I have reason for liking some people better than others, for else, you know, I should never have married your papa?"

This answer was a great comfort to Grace; but it was also a great distress. She thought, "Then of course mamma must have loved papa better than any body else in the whole world; and yet mamma never saw him after I was two years old." She had never before realized her mamma's loss; and she lost herself in thinking how thoughtless she must have been till this moment. Seeing so many families, with both parents living, prepared her for these thoughts; besides a little incident which had very much contributed to the first part of her conversation. At the small party she had just been at, was Mrs. Mason, who talked a good deal to Grace. She made her come and sit with her on the sofa, praised her hair and her eyes, and alluded to Mr. Everard's compliments to her, as she called them. Grace did not like this, and longed to be rude and run away, but she thought her mamma would not approve of her doing so; she therefore sat still. Mrs. Mason then went on telling her, that she did not wonder at Mr. Everard admiring her so much, for that once he admired her mamma very much, and she should not wonder if he were to be her papa after all." Should you like Mr. Everard for a papa, my dear?"

Grace stared at the lady in such a way, that Mrs. Mason felt the meaning of Mrs. Ward's remark, that Grace's eyes were like those of a grown person. At length she said, "Mr. Everard is my godpapa.

"Yes, my dear, I know that," said the lady, "but I mean your papa—your real papa."

Grace still fixed her eyes in Mrs. Mason's face, and replied with a very proper tone and manner, "What do you mean!-my papa is dead!"

Grace had never before mentioned her papa to any stranger, and she felt as if she had been wrong in doing so now. Mrs. Mason actually was annoyed, and though an unusual circumstance with her, was at a loss for an answer. She however said, "I know it, my dear; but don't you know people can marry again? and if your mamma married Mr. Everard, he would be your papa

יי?

Grace did not think, this time, whether her mamma would approve it or not, but as soon as she could, she slid off the sofa, and escaped to the other end of the room.Soon after her games of chess began. Mrs. Mason's remarks had made her very uncomfortable; she had never chanced to have heard such made before. When her mamma alluded to her papa, she felt very much re-assured, and thought it exceedingly singular, since Mrs. Leslie very rarely mentioned him. She did not dislike Mr. Everard, or even feel much afraid of him now. She had seen a good deal of him, and understood him a little, and she saw he was kind to her; but when she went to bed, she got an opportunity, when Emily did not see her, of having a long look at her papa's picture, and felt very much satisfied at the conclusion she came to, that it was not in the least like Mr. Everard. Few persons can understand the effect of remarks of this kind upon an observant and sensitive child, in Grace's circumstances; if they did, they would not be so cruel as lightly to inflict such pain. The ignorance a child is conscious of in such matters, adds to the sting, and should be its protection. There is an injustice, too, both to parents and children, as the effect of such communications unadvisedly made, may produce lasting and irremediable evils, and every parent has a right to make such an important communication in the way that seems most suitable to the dispositions of children. But Mrs. Mason was not of a character to take such things into consideration; she was of a social disposition, and had very little to do besides finding all the amusement she could among her neighbours.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

How partial parents' doting eyes,
No child was e'er so fair and wise.
Gay's Fables.

THE next day there was another large dinner party at home. The guests were principally neighbours of Mr. and Mrs. Ward, and strangers to Mrs. Leslie. Mr. Everard, however, was there, also Mrs. Mason. The children appeared, as usual at such times, only in the drawing-room. After the gentlemen came up, there was music. Mr. Everard, who was very fond of music, and understood it thoroughly, was near the piano, as usual; he asked Mrs. Leslie if Grace played well enough to be asked to sit down.

"Indeed she does," said a nice-looking young lady-the Miss Wallis, before mentioned; "Mrs. Leslie, I was quite surprised at your little girl the other evening at our house; the children were dancing, and some one proposed a new dance, with a slow air and a country dance. I really did not wish to undertake it, for I dare not play for dancing without the notes before me. Emily went and brought up your little girl; she said she was not afraid, and I assure you she played for a good half hour without a single mistake, as steady as old Time."

Mrs. Leslie was pleased to hear Grace could do such a thing, as it was quite new to her. She said Grace had mentioned playing one dance for them. She asked what slow air she played, and heard it was "God save the King.' Mr. Everard said he had rather hear Grace play that, than any thing; and Mrs. Leslie went herself to speak to Grace, who was just finishing some game. Grace was much more alarmed at the idea, than on the former occasion; because, she said now that it was music,-then it was dancing, and nobody listened. Her mamma reminded her that, since it had been requested, people would be more pleased by her obedience than by her skill, and she need only suppose she was practising. Grace followed her mamma, sat down, and played "God save the King," through, with more touch and force than is commonly met with in a child. Every head was turned to the piano at the first notes of the well-known anthem, and every one was surprised to see there a little