Christobelle felt distressed beyond measure at Captain Ponsonby's thoughtless speech, which elicited a cold smile from Sir John Spottiswoode. How could he smile so coldly upon her?
Christobelle had no spirits to reply to the cheerful remarks of Captain Ponsonby, who continued chatting with enviable ease of heart, upon every subject which offered itself to his notice. She was listening to a conversation infinitely more attractive between her father and Sir John Spottiswoode; but Captain Ponsonby's vivacity perpetually interrupted her attention, and called forth an unwilling and absent reply. There is no annoyance so galling as the society of the happy, when a heart is struggling with grief, which seeks silence and solitude.
"Miss Wetheral, I bespeak your attention to those masses of clouds rising in the west; are they not beautiful? Did you ever fancy forms in the clouds? I do, often. See, Miss Wetheral, I can outline a lion rampant perfectly in that fleecy cloud—can you see it?"
Christobelle was disturbed: Sir John Spottiswoode had spoken about Alverton, and she wished to catch his words as they became indistinct. She answered Captain Ponsonby hastily, "No, indeed."
"I will point it out more distinctly. Fix your eye upon the third dark cloud, and by the side of that cloud stands the lion rampant. Now do you see what I mean?"
"Yes," replied Christobelle, almost peevishly, "I think I see what you mean." She trusted the subject was now ended.
"Well, can you distinguish a chariot and pair, Miss Wetheral? I see them distinctly, and in excellent proportions."
"It pains my sight, Captain Ponsonby, to fix my eyes upon the heavens."
"I will shade the light with my hat," said Captain Ponsonby; "there, now your eyes are safe: the sun is behind my hat."
Christobelle was obliged to give her attention to the indefatigable Captain Ponsonby, and she lost all hope of Sir John Spottiswoode's remarks. Her spirits were powerfully depressed; happily, as the morning had opened upon her cheerful expectations, every pleasant prospect was clouded now. Sir John Spottiswoode had been gay and playful in conversation, till they alighted at Clanmoray, and from that moment her evil genius had pursued her. Why was the companion of her walks so changed, and why was he so cold and silent to his friend?