‘No, I do not,’ said Mary; ‘these people generally do not visit us.’
‘What a pity,’ he said, ‘that their parties should want such an ornament! but,’ he added, ‘this night must make them aware of their oversight: if you are not always in society after this, it will surely not be from want of solicitation.’
‘You are very kind to think so,’ replied Mary; ‘but even if it were to be so, I should not see my way clear to be often in such scenes as this.’
Her companion looked at her with a glance a little doubtful and amused, and said—
‘And pray, why not, if the inquiry be not presumptuous?’
‘Because,’ said Mary, ‘I should be afraid they would take too much time and thought, and lead me to forget the great object of life.’
The simple gravity with which this was said, as if quite assured of the sympathy of her auditor, appeared to give him a secret amusement. His bright dark eyes danced as if he suppressed some quick repartee; but, drooping his long lashes deferentially, he said, in gentle tones—
‘I should like to know what so beautiful a young lady considers the great object of life?’
Mary answered reverentially, in those words familiar from infancy to every Puritan child, ‘To glorify God, and enjoy Him for ever.’
‘Really?’ he said, looking straight into her eyes with that penetrating glance with which he was accustomed to take the gauge of every one with whom he conversed.