Mrs. St. Clair sat at work near the open window, now and then glancing at the fair face of her young daughter, which wore a thoughtful, pensive look, in spite of its radiant loveliness.
Maria had quite recovered the effects of her dangerous sea-bath, and the word radiant is not too exaggerated a term to apply to the appearance of the young girl as she stands gracefully, yet carelessly, leaning against the window-frame.
"Have you quite finished practising, Maria?" said her mother, at last.
"No, mamma; but I could not resist another look at the dear old park. After all, I don't think there is a prettier place than Richmond Hill, even in the Isle of Wight; and although I have lived here ever since my childhood, I declare it seems more beautiful to me every year."
"That is because you are older, and more able to appreciate beautiful scenery."
"I suppose that is the reason," replied Maria—and yet while she spoke arose a consciousness that this new appreciation of Nature at Richmond owed its origin to a romantic and vivid description of the feelings the scene had excited in the heart of one who now monopolised all her thoughts. "He promised to come and see us," she said to herself, "and we have been home a week and yet he has not made his appearance. Perhaps he wont come, after all;" and then, feeling that she must throw off the sad thoughts which were attracting her mother's notice, she suddenly rushed to the piano, and struck the first chords of a piece with variations on the air of "The Lass of Richmond Hill."
But the composer's efforts were destined to come to a sudden end. The young housemaid opened the drawing-room door, and as she ushered a gentleman into the room, startled the ladies by exclaiming—
"Mr. Edward Armstrong, ma'am," at the same time placing that gentleman's card in the hands of her mistress.
Maria rose from the piano in hasty confusion. Much as she had thought upon the gentleman, whom she called her deliverer, his appearance at this moment was so totally unexpected that she was relieved to see him advance first to her mother, who sat at a distance from the piano. She had scarcely time to recover her self possession, however, before her mother's words in reply to Mr. Armstrong's inquiries for her daughter caused him to turn and approach her.
As Maria St. Clair came forward to meet this man, to whom she owed, as she thought, such a debt of gratitude, Edward Armstrong, in spite of his own good opinion of himself, was conscious of a feeling of inferiority.