"What a horrid man!" exclaimed Lucy.
"You will not think so when you see him, or if you do, you will be singular," said Clair. "Then I was going to tell you, that he is changeable as the moon. Perhaps, when you are alone with him, he will startle and entrance you, by his eloquent observations on men, and things; and you will invite your friends to meet him, expecting them to be equally fascinated; but, perhaps, during the whole evening, he will scarcely make even a common-place observation. He is, indeed, a curious, fascinating, wilful being; clever, and accomplished, beyond a doubt, and his character is unimpeachable; yet he always seems to want something to make him entirely happy."
"Poor fellow," sighed Mr. Ware.
"Perhaps he is in love," suggested Lucy.
"Hardly unsuccessfully, I should think; indeed, were I he, I should never despair—but I own," said he, laughing; "I have sometimes caught him looking at the moon."
"Well," said Mabel, rising; "I am sure we have to thank you for your description of our lord of the manor, though you have made him rather a terrible personage. Come, Lucy, I fear we must go."
"If you must, you will allow me to see you home," said Clair.
"I always take Mabel home," said his uncle; "but, if you will come with us, as there are two ladies to be taken care of, we shall walk home together."
Clair gladly assented to this arrangement; but, to Lucy's surprise, offered Mabel his arm, leaving her to walk with his uncle; a plan she so decidedly disliked, that she insisted on keeping her pocket-handkerchief to her mouth the whole way home, though the night was remarkably clear, and her stifled and negligent answers gave little encouragement to her companion's attempts at conversation.