‘Ah, yes, I have just come from the house of Mr. Vandewater.’
‘And who lives there?’ inquired she, fixing her eyes keenly on the face of the youth.
‘Mr. and Mrs. Vandewater, their niece and the servants,’ replied he.
‘The niece! the niece!’ cried Maria. ‘What of her?’
‘A very fine young lady, I believe.’
‘Very fine? Yes, very fine—you find her so? Very fine.’
‘Maria,’ said he, in a decisive tone, ‘if you have been told that I love Julia Vandewater, or that I have ever given her the least reason to suspect so, you have been told a downright falsehood.’
‘You not love Julia? No? Not a little bit?’ and she seized his hand and gazed into his face earnestly.
‘No, Maria, I do not love her.’
Maria was silent, and looked much puzzled. She trotted her foot; she looked at Monteagle, and then she fixed her gaze upon the ground for several minutes.