He had also come with his mind inspired with doubt, indifference, even prejudice against some of those he had met, the Wellwood sisters in particular; and, instead of finding them objectionable in any way, they were far more refined than himself, the 'curled pet' of many a Belgravian drawing-room.
Many a fair face in these regions was forgotten now, and his thoughts were all of Mary Wellwood—more than he dared acknowledge to himself. Though he had seen so little of her, he felt—was it the result of some magnetic affinity?—as if he had known her all his life; as if a full knowledge of her character had suddenly crept into his heart, and yet this was impossible just then.
'Mary Wellwood!' he murmured to himself.
He had heard of Colonel Wellwood's daughters in London more than once, from one who should have befriended them, but always omitted to do so, and whose views and opinions of two friendless girls were ever slighting and hostile; and now that he met and knew them, Colville despised himself for some of the thoughts in which he had first indulged concerning them, and the more tenderly he thought of Mary the more reproachful of himself he grew.
He had made no declaration—no; he was neither so rash nor so foolish as that yet, with all his romance, if the object of her regard was Mr. Robert Wodrow.
Of her feelings towards himself he could not form the slightest idea, and her manner was a source of perplexity. One moment she was frank, genial, and without restraint; but the next, if he became in the least degree tender, she grew retiring, distant, and cold; and, though he knew it not, this bearing was born of the rumours concerning Blanche Galloway, and he was all unaware how local gossip had mixed up his name with that of this young lady.
On one occasion he suspected that Mary avoided him, and once she seemed nearly to dislike him; thus he was pleased that he had not too formally committed himself, and so, until he could put the matter 'to the touch, to win or lose it all,' he would but torment himself with doubts and fears in the way usual to all lovers; but ere the time came, events were to occur which, though in some measure caused by himself, the bitter issue of them he could never have foreseen.
The two chief episodes of the garden-party were of course well known to the two ladies at Craigmhor, as Mademoiselle Rosette had two bright and sharp French eyes in her head, and knew perfectly well how to use them.
'I don't like the conduct of Sir Redmond, of course, Blanche,' said Lady Dunkeld, 'and have no wish that he should involve himself with an obscure girl whom he met in our house.'
'I believe it to be all nothing more than a mere coquetterie de salon,' said Lord Dunkeld. 'Sleath is not a marrying man.'