"'And walks the mazes of her hair,'" added Mr. Vyvyan.
Tom Pynsent gazed on each speaker in silent amazement: no pencil could pourtray the workings of his countenance.
"Who would sorrow for the cold-hearted, when a handsome girl worships the ground one treads upon?" cried Mr. John Tyndal. "Not I for one."
"I wish she would give me one of those dovelike glances she bestows upon the dull-headed Pynsent," sighed Mr. Henry Tyndal.
"By Jove, gentlemen, I don't consider myself dull!" at last Tom Pynsent burst forth. "I know many ladies who would like to live at Hatton, though they care little enough about its master; but I deny your present statement. Who is the lady you allude to?"
"Go and ask Miss Wetheral to dance, Pynsent, and she will assist you in solving our riddle," said Mr. Wycherly, laughing.
"Good heavens! if a woman looked in my eyes, as I saw a lady consulting yours just now, Pynsent, I should feel myself called upon to fall desperately in love," observed his friend Vyvyan.
"God bless my soul! do you mean that Miss Wetheral likes me?"
Tom Pynsent uttered the question with an agitated and hurried tone of voice, which caused a general laugh among his auditors, but Mr. Wycherly spoke seriously and looked in earnest.
"You were in love with her sister, Pynsent, and had no time to observe other women. Every one else could read in the expression of Miss Wetheral's manner and countenance her decided liking for you."