"Well," said Maria, resuming the conversation she had interrupted, "I am thankful I have not a pretty face—it is the fruit of more mischief than enough."
Mr. Stokes gave another stroke to his boots—(there was not a particle of dust remaining on them.)
"Oh, I forgot," said Maria, unlocking her work-box; "I have not given you your last pocket-handkerchief—Is not this beautiful work?"
Mabel had finished it for her.
As she said this, she held it so close to his eyes, that, for gallantry's sake, he was forced to kiss the hand that offered it.
He did so; and Maria gave him a very gentle slap on the cheek, at the same time, bringing her half laughing, half pouting face so near his, that, forgetful of better manners, he gave it a kiss.
Maria only laughed still more, saying—
"Oh, you naughty man—fie, for shame."
The Squire laughed, too, though not so gaily, for he had been turned in a purpose which he hoped would have secured his domestic happiness, so that he soon shook hands with her, and hurried away.
Maria was delighted with the success of her interview, and went about the house in the most evident spirits.