“Never can I sufficiently thank you for the urbanity—the kindness, with which you treat me, my dear young lady!” exclaimed the old woman. “But am I not intruding upon your leisure—perhaps keeping you away from some companion——”
“Oh! no—I am all alone here,” said the young lady, with an ingenuous frankness that excited a feeling of interest—almost of admiration, even in the breast of such an one as Mrs. Mortimer. “When I say alone,” continued the beauteous creature, “I do not of course allude to the servants—because they cannot be called companions, you know; although the old housekeeper is very kind and good-natured; and Jane—the maid who gave you admission just now—is a sweet-tempered girl.”
“And is it possible that you dwell here in complete seclusion!” demanded the old woman, rendering her voice as mild and her manner as conciliating as possible.
“Oh! I am accustomed to this seclusion, as you style it, madam,” exclaimed the young lady, gaily: “for years I have lived in this manner, with my books—my music—my drawings;—and I am very happy,” she added, in a tone which left not a doubt as to the sincerity of her statement. “At the same time,” she continued, after a few moments’ pause, and in a somewhat more serious voice, “I could wish that my dear papa visited me a little oftener—and that circumstances, of which I am however ignorant did not prevent——”
“What! does not your father live with you, my dear young lady?” asked Mrs. Mortimer, surveying her with the most unfeigned surprise.
“Alas! he does not,” replied the artless girl, her looks and her tone now becoming suddenly mournful: but, in the next moment, her countenance brightened up, and she observed, “At the same time I am wrong to give way to sorrow in that respect, since my dear father assures me that the reasons are most important—most grave——”
She checked herself: for it suddenly struck her that she was bestowing her confidence upon one who was a total stranger to her, and that such frankness might possibly be indiscreet.
“And your mother, my dear lady?” said Mrs. Mortimer, interrogatively.
“I never knew her,” answered the lovely creature, in a low and almost sad tone. “But I have been all this time wearying you with remarks and revelations concerning myself—forgetting that I should have first suffered you to give the promised explanation relative to your visit. You may address me as Miss Vernon—or Agnes Vernon, if you choose: for that is my name. And now, tell me the object of your call.”
Mrs. Mortimer gazed in astonishment upon the charming being who was seated opposite to her. Never had the old woman beheld so fascinating a specimen of infantine artlessness and unsophisticated candour. There was nothing artificial—nothing unreal in Agnes Vernon: the innocence of her soul—the purity of her mind—the chastity of her thoughts, were apparent in every word she uttered and in every feature of her bewitching face!