In one of these gardens, and very near the boundary wall against which the high tide dashed pleasantly, stood a gentleman earnestly watching the embarkation of the party in the pleasure-boat.
His dress was more like that of the yeoman of those days than the seaside costume of a gentleman. The thick shoes and drab gaiters, part of the customary garb of a farmer, were, however, concealed by the garden wall, and when for a moment he took off the white, low-crowned beaver hat, and rubbed his fingers through his hair, the face and head were those of a handsome man of the intellectual type. Regular features, clear olive skin, dark sparkling eyes, hair, eyebrows, and whiskers of almost raven blackness, and a certain air of refinement, were certainly not quite in character with his homely attire.
"Where have I seen that face?" he said to himself, as Maria St. Clair paused irresolutely with one foot on the prow of the boat. "It is very beautiful."
And the gentleman's reflections were not far wrong. Plainly, but tastefully dressed, the lithe figure slightly bent forward in a shrinking, yet graceful attitude, and the outstretched tiny foot were attractive enough to excite notice. But the face truly deserved the epithet bestowed upon it by the lounger in the garden. Fair at this moment, even to paleness, the delicately-chiselled features, the half-opened lips, expressive of fear, and exposing the pearly teeth, and the long fair ringlets that fell on her shoulders made up a picture which when once seen was not easily forgotten. Such a face is often supposed to belong to a woman devoid of character or insipid, but from this appearance it was saved by marked eyebrows darker than the hair and violet eyes shaded by long dark lashes.
While thus Edward Armstrong stood making a photograph of the young girl on his memory, he recalled the fact that he had seen her at church on the previous Sunday as one of the pupils of a ladies' school, and had been attracted to notice her by her retiring timid manner, which to him formed her greatest charm.
He remained to watch till he saw her safely seated in the boat with the other ladies, and then, as the rowers turned in the direction of the Solent, he found himself observed by the ladies. At once, but not abruptly, he left his post of observation, saying to himself, "I'll find out the name of that fair lassie from my landlady; she has lived here many years and knows everybody." At the garden door he met the very person of whom he thought, and she at once opened the subject without requiring him to "beat about the bush" for that purpose.
"You've been watching the ladies embark, sir," she said; "it's a lovely day for a row or even a sail, if they like. Mrs. St. Clair and her daughter, Mrs. Herbert, often hires that boat for themselves, but it's the first time I've ever seen Miss Maria on the sea, except in a steamboat; she's very much afraid of the water."
"Is Mrs. St. Clair a visitor?" he asked.
"Well, sir, in one way she is, for she's visiting her daughter, Mrs. Herbert, who resides here with her little boy. Her husband, Captain Herbert, is in India, and she came over about twelve months ago, on account of her health.
"Mrs. St. Clair has a house near London, and she's a real lady, sir," continued the old woman, glad to have for once an interested listener. "She's one of the Elliots; they're a Warwickshire family, and she married the Honourable Mr. St. Clair, a grandson of Lord Selmore's. He wasn't very well off, sir—you know those younger sons seldom are—and when he died, about five years ago, he left his widow a very small income, and nothing for his three daughters."