“She doesn’t look at me when I talk of myself,” he thought, while his listeners were laughing. “I must try other subjects.”
Did Lucy intend to be present at the meeting of the Book Club next week? was the next question. Then followed the recommendation to choose Southey’s “Life of Cowper,” unless she were inclined to be philosophical, and startle the ladies of St Ogg’s by voting for one of the Bridgewater Treatises. Of course Lucy wished to know what these alarmingly learned books were; and as it is always pleasant to improve the minds of ladies by talking to them at ease on subjects of which they know nothing, Stephen became quite brilliant in an account of Buckland’s Treatise, which he had just been reading. He was rewarded by seeing Maggie let her work fall, and gradually get so absorbed in his wonderful geological story that she sat looking at him, leaning forward with crossed arms, and with an entire absence of self-consciousness, as if he had been the snuffiest of old professors, and she a downy-lipped alumna. He was so fascinated by the clear, large gaze that at last he forgot to look away from it occasionally toward Lucy; but she, sweet child, was only rejoicing that Stephen was proving to Maggie how clever he was, and that they would certainly be good friends after all.
“I will bring you the book, shall I, Miss Tulliver?” said Stephen, when he found the stream of his recollections running rather shallow. “There are many illustrations in it that you will like to see.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Maggie, blushing with returning self-consciousness at this direct address, and taking up her work again.
“No, no,” Lucy interposed. “I must forbid your plunging Maggie in books. I shall never get her away from them; and I want her to have delicious do-nothing days, filled with boating and chatting and riding and driving; that is the holiday she needs.”
“Apropos!” said Stephen, looking at his watch. “Shall we go out for a row on the river now? The tide will suit for us to the Tofton way, and we can walk back.”
That was a delightful proposition to Maggie, for it was years since she had been on the river. When she was gone to put on her bonnet, Lucy lingered to give an order to the servant, and took the opportunity of telling Stephen that Maggie had no objection to seeing Philip, so that it was a pity she had sent that note the day before yesterday. But she would write another to-morrow and invite him.
“I’ll call and beat him up to-morrow,” said Stephen, “and bring him with me in the evening, shall I? My sisters will want to call on you when I tell them your cousin is with you. I must leave the field clear for them in the morning.”
“Oh yes, pray bring him,” said Lucy. “And you will like Maggie, sha’n’t you?” she added, in a beseeching tone. “Isn’t she a dear, noble-looking creature?”
“Too tall,” said Stephen, smiling down upon her, “and a little too fiery. She is not my type of woman, you know.”