Among the guests who made an early appearance in this "Temple of Apollo," was the youth who had attended the ladies in their walk. Seymour Delafield glanced his eye impatiently around the apartment, as soon as he had paid the customary compliments to the mistress of the mansion and her bevy of fair daughters; but a look of disappointment betrayed the search to be an unsuccessful one. Both the look and the result were noticed by Maria; and, turning a glance of rather saucy meaning on the gentleman, she said—
"I apprehend your flute, which, by the by, I am glad to see you have brought, will be rather in the penseroso style this evening, Mr. Delafield."
"Unless enlivened by the contagious gayety of your smile," returned Delafield, endeavouring to look excessively unconcerned; "but"—
"Oh! my very laugh is musical, I know," interrupted Maria; "but then it is often shockingly out of time."
"It seldom fails to produce an accompaniment," said the gentleman, now smiling in reality; "but"—
"Where is Charlotte Henley?" said the young lady, again interrupting him; "she has a perfect horror of the tuning of fiddles and the preparatory thrummings on the piano; so endeavour to preserve the harmony of your temper for the second act."
"Well! it is some relief to know she is coming at all," cried Seymour, quickly; and then, recovering himself, with perfect breeding, he added—"for one would wish to see you as happy as all your friends can make you, on such an occasion."
"I am extremely indebted to your unbounded philanthropy," said Maria, rising and courtseying with great gravity; "do not doubt of its being honourably mentioned at"—
"Nay, nay," cried the youth, colouring and laughing, "you would not think of mentioning my remarks to"—
"At the next meeting of the Dorcas Society, of which I am an unworthy member," continued Maria, without listening to his remonstrance.