"Yes," was the artful reply; "and in this case, unfortunately, they do not approve her choice."
Squire Morrison and his good wife had not the slightest idea of any attachment which their daughter had formed, and therefore this was lie the third.
"Indeed!" remarked the minister, not caring to pursue the subject at present. "But just see how brightly the moon is shining upon the water."
He then gave his companion an account of a lake near his father's house, hundreds of miles away; and how the moon, shining on it, converted it into a sheet of burnished silver. Thoughts of home so softened his heart toward his companion that when he left her at Squire Morrison's door, the parting was almost tender.
The next day, Ada was unable to leave her bed; and Alice, who had repeatedly declared that she could not longer postpone her return home, exclaimed that she would not leave her.
The sick girl was glad that her mother's presence prevented her making any reply; for Alice's absence was now as earnestly desired as her presence had formerly been.
A day or two later Miss Locke called and was shown at once into Ada's chamber, where Alice found them after an hour deeply engaged in conversation. Her entrance was followed by a sudden silence, during which her usual sang-froid entirely left her, and she could not conceal her embarrassment and vexation. This was Saturday, and she had been prevented from attending the lecture alone the previous evening by Mrs. Morrison's remark,—
"If I were your mother, Miss Saunders, I should advise you not to go to lecture to-night; though your motive may be excellent, it seems like courting the attention of the clergyman. I have resolved that when you leave, Ada shall never put herself in so awkward a situation."
This suggestion, taken in connection with Miss Locke's long call, led Alice to fear that her remark concerning Ada had been repeated, and that it had excited the mother's displeasure; for, notwithstanding her statement that Ada's parents disapproved her attachment, she believed they would be delighted to have their daughter secure the affection of so good a man as Mr. Barton.
To do Alice justice, she had sense enough to see that the young clergyman was vastly superior to any of the gentlemen she had heretofore dignified with the name of lovers, and, though vexed that he never praised her beauty, yet her heart was touched as it had never been before. The thought that Ada loved him, and that her affection was reciprocated, roused passions in her of whose existence she was wholly unaware. An angry flush, therefore, distorted her features on observing a quick glance of caution from Miss Locke to her friend, and she turned to leave the room, but, with a sudden resolve to prevent all farther private communication, she took a seat near the window, and presently saw Mr. Barton walk deliberately up the front avenue toward the house.