“What a handsome couple!” she was thinking, and again she sighed. By some mischance, Miss Eliza’s proper destiny had never been fulfilled. She ought to have been one of the couple, and her whole nature pointed in that direction. She was sentimental, tender-hearted, and affectionate, and yet in her middle-age she was still unwedded. But she had no jealousy of younger women. On the contrary, the suppressed maternal instincts in her heart seemed to bloom forth when she beheld a fair young face. She also regarded her tall nephew with something like the affection of a mother.
But though he might be so in her eyes, Mr. Ralph Webster could not justly be called “handsome.” He had, however, an intelligent, clever face, with marked features and dark gray penetrating eyes. His manner was self-reliant and quick. Altogether a keen-looking man, with a face well-suited to his profession, for he was a barrister; a hard-working barrister, who had already accomplished a fair amount of success.
“And you have had a long journey?” he said, leaning on the back of a chair and addressing May Churchill.
“Yes, rather,” answered May, moving uneasily, for she did not know what John Temple had said to the Websters about her home, and Ralph Webster noticed this slight uneasiness.
“The country must be looking beautiful just now,” he continued, with his keen eyes fixed on her changing face; “this is the season of holidays, and I am longing for mine.”
“I like the autumn, too,” said May.
“Well, I think I like the spring best,” mildly remarked Miss Eliza; “in the autumn one feels that the winter is so near; you should like the spring best, too, my dear,” she added, looking at May; “you, who are in your spring-time.”
“Dear sentimental Aunt Eliza!” laughed Mr. Webster. “I am sure you are thinking of the lambkins skipping about the green fields, while I am thinking—”
“Of what, my dear?”
“I dare hardly say—lamb in another form, I am afraid.”