Of these quiet parties Selina was merely a spectator: as, after she had answered all Mrs. Martin's questions, with the same kindness they were asked; provided Lucy with the daily newspaper, and the last new magazine; placed her father's chair and arranged his foot-stool, (for he thought no one could settle them as comfortably as his Selina); all her duties of the evening were at an end. She could then amuse herself unnoticed, with her pencil or her tambour frame, or have recourse to her harpsichord: where, unambitious of praise, and unstimulated by vanity, she would, for hours, "warble her wood notes wild."
Sometimes, indeed, Mr. and Mrs. Temple would join the party; and though without even the acquisition of their society Selina was always cheerful, yet when she enjoyed the rational conversation of the one, and the lively good-nature of the other, she felt additional pleasure: for both these excellent people looked on Selina almost as a child of their own. Mr. Temple had watched with delight the gradual development of an understanding, from whose matured powers he fondly anticipated every good; though his anxious penetration led him sometimes to shudder for her future character and fate, as he watched the susceptibility of her heart,
"Which like the needle true,
Turn'd at the touch of joy or woe,
But turning—trembled too."
His amiable consort, however, notwithstanding all her deference to his opinion, would scarcely acknowledge that the ray of celestial light, which played round the opening blossom and gave it added brilliancy, might, by prematurely expanding its charms, doom it to untimely decay. And, sometimes, when the venerable pastor, with parental solicitude, almost regretted that volatility, which to indifferent spectators but gave a charm the more, Mrs. Temple, with that fearful prescience which but belongs to a female heart, would stop the intended reproof, and say, "Ah! James, do not check her innocent mirth; the day may come, when we would give the world to see her smile." Meantime the lovely object of their care would often, when at night she laid her guiltless head on her pillow, as yet unwatered by a single tear, add to her pious thanksgiving a wish that all the world was as happy, as she gratefully acknowledged she was herself.
Little did this innocent child of nature imagine, that fate had already marked the hour, when she was to bid farewell to the calm scenes of her present happiness. Sir Henry never spoke, and could scarcely bear to think, of the engagement between her and Mr. Elton, to which he had so precipitately given his consent: and Mrs. Galton was equally averse to mentioning the subject: of course, therefore, Selina remained totally unconscious of it, and her time passed in the happy alternation of leisure and employment, unmarked by accident, and unimpaired by sorrow. Even the visit of Lord and Lady Eltondale was already almost forgotten by her, or only occasionally occurred to her memory as a dream, whilst even the fascination she had wondered at and admired by degrees faded from her recollection.
One fine autumnal day, in the beginning of October, she had just returned from one of her favourite rambles in the park, when she abruptly entered the library, to show to Sir Henry an exhausted leveret, that she had discovered panting in a thicket, and that she had brought home in her arms: as she held it she partially covered it by her frock, which she had caught up to keep it warm; without any recollection of the consequent exposure of her beautiful ancle, which this derangement of her drapery had occasioned. Her color was heightened by exercise, and the wind had dishevelled her luxuriant brown hair, that strayed in ringlets on her beaming cheek, whilst her straw hat, almost untied, had slipped off her head, and hung behind, in contrast to the remaining locks that a comb loosely fastened. Perhaps a painter or a sculptor would have chosen that moment, to perpetuate the beautiful object, that, as Selina opened the door, thus suddenly presented itself to the delighted gaze of two gentlemen, who were then visiting Sir Henry: in one Selina immediately recognised Mr. Webberly, and to the other she was introduced as his friend, Mr. Sedley. At first Selina coloured, as she momentarily recollected her dishabille, if such it might be called; but in an instant, recovering herself, she apologized to her father for her intrusion, and calmly obeyed his directions to seat herself beside him, whilst she dismissed her trembling protégée to be nursed below stairs. Was it innate good sense, or was it incipient vanity, that saved this young recluse from the torments of mauvaise honte, which so many votaries of fashion feel or feign? Her colour was as variable as the tints of a summer sky; but though it was often heightened, and sometimes changed by quick susceptibility affecting it, it seldom suffered from that illegitimate timidity, that owes its birth to an inordinate anxiety to please. The language of compliment was foreign to her ear, and she had yet to learn that finished coquetry, that wraps itself in the veil of modesty, and flies to be pursued.
Mr. Webberly stated, the motive of his visit was not only to deliver an invitation from his mother to a ball she purposed giving in a few weeks, but also to add his earnest persuasions, that Sir Henry, Mrs. Galton, and Miss Seymour would accept it. On this occasion the unpolished Selina broke through all the rules of etiquette; and, totally unmindful of the presence of strangers, at the mention of a ball jumped up, clapped her hands, and springing almost as high as another Parisot, exclaimed, as she threw her arms round Sir Henry's neck, "Pray dear, dear Papa, let me go, I've heard so much of balls!" It may be supposed, the gentlemen strenuously seconded her solicitations: their united entreaties having obtained Sir Henry's consent, they at length withdrew, whilst Selina reiterated her thanks and her joy with equal earnestness and naïveté.
"Well, Sedley, what do you think of Miss Seymour?" exclaimed Webberly, as they rode leisurely home. "By Heavens! she is quite beautiful," returned his friend.—"She has the finest eyes and teeth I ever beheld."—"And fine oaks too, or she'd never do for me," rejoined her calculating admirer. A silence of some minutes ensued, which was at last broken by Sedley's observing, that "he had never seen such a profusion of silky hair." "For my part," resumed Webberly, "I like black hair much better: Miss Wildenheim is a thousand times handsomer than Miss Seymour!"
Mr. Sedley neither contradicted nor assented to this observation, but with apparent nonchalance turned the subject to that of shooting and hunting; which promised amusements had been his inducement for visiting Webberly House. The conversation was not again resumed, and they returned scarcely in time to dress for dinner, which the anxious Mrs. Sullivan declared would be quite "ruinated," assuring them, "the cook was always arranged and discordant by them there long preambulations a-horseback they were so fond of."