"Alverton is a handsome estate," remarked Christobelle.
"Very well for a nobody," replied Lady Wetheral, haughtily, "but a wretched pittance for a Miss Wetheral, who has attracted the notice of Lord Farnborough. I saw his watchful looks towards the door, Bell. I marked his lordship's glances towards the lake, when he heard of your visit to the island; every thing is in your power, if you will but listen to your mother's counsel."
"Do not talk to me of marriage, mamma, I implore you," cried Christobelle, as the gentlemen entered from the dining-room. Sir John Spottiswoode took his seat near her as usual; she thought he looked more benevolent, more interesting than ever. Matrimony never coupled itself with her admiration of Sir John, but to be commanded to approve him less than Lord Farnborough—to consider him poor and undesirable, who had improved her better tastes, and increased her store of good! No, that should never be. Christobelle was too young to wish to marry, too happy and free to think of fetters: but her right hand would forget its cunning, ere she ceased to esteem Sir John Spottiswoode beyond every human being.
"Shall we walk this evening?" he asked, as thoughts passed too rapidly through her mind to allow of speech. Christobelle coloured, and turned mechanically towards her mother. Lady Wetheral saw her emotion.
"My dear child looks fatigued, Sir John. Shall we advise her to be quiet this evening? A long morning upon the water has lessened her bloom."
"One little turn upon the terrace only, Miss Wetheral." Sir John offered his arm.
"My dear Bell, even the terrace will fatigue you," observed her ladyship, with anxiety.
"One turn to watch that sunset, Lady Wetheral! I will bring Miss Wetheral back before fatigue attacks her."
"My dear Bell!..."
"I will not detain her many minutes—one turn, my pupil."