Add to this a good figure and a distinguished air, and you have some superficial idea of the gentleman toward whom Grace Carden found herself drawn by circumstances, and not unwillingly, though not with that sacred joy and thrill which marks a genuine passion.
They left George and the trap at the “Colley Dog,” and ascended the mountain. There were no serious difficulties on this side; but still there were little occasional asperities, that gave the lover an opportunity to offer his arm; and Mr. Coventry threw a graceful devotion even into this slight act of homage. He wooed her with perfect moderation at first; it was not his business to alarm her at starting; he proceeded gradually; and, by the time they had reached the summit, he had felt his way, and had every reason to hope she would accept him.
At the summit the remarkable beauty of the view threw her into raptures, and interrupted the more interesting topic on which he was bent.
But the man of the world showed no impatience (I don't say he felt none); he answered all Grace's questions, and told her what all the places were.
But, by-and-by, the atmosphere thickened suddenly in that quarter, and he then told her gently he had something to show her on the other side of the knob.
He conducted her to a shed the shepherds had erected, and seated her on a rude bench. “You must be a little tired,” he said.
Then he showed her, in the valley, one of those delightful old red brick houses, with white stone facings. “That is Bollinghope.”
She looked at it with polite interest.
“Do you like it?”
“Very much. It warms the landscape so.”