He placed it in her hand as he spoke; the only blossom he gave her; the rest he deposited in a basket to be carried to Hurstdene.
“I think you love flowers better than ever,” was her observation, very innocently made.
“I do,” replied he, gravely, with eyes turned away in another direction. “Take this little peeping red and white bud to Nest with my love, it is the very image of her dear little face. See how coquettishly it half looks out, half hides.” He said this in a light and playful tone, and she made him a smiling answer, and then Mrs. Paine, having concluded a dialogue she had been holding with Mr. Allan, summoned Hilary to the carriage.
As he helped her in, he said, but without looking up at her—
“Was not I right in saying my cousin had nothing to do with lilies of the valley?”
“She would wear the crown imperial,” said Mrs. Paine, laughingly; and then they drove off, while Hilary mused on the feeling he entertained for his cousin, and what she wished that feeling to be, now she had seen the lady.
She looked forward with a little anxiety to their visit being returned. It made her uncomfortable to think of it; there was something in the quick glance of those very bright eyes which discomposed her, and made her feel shy and shrinking. It was not, however, half so bad as she expected, when the visitors really arrived, which they did in the course of a week. Mrs. and Miss Fielding drove over, Mr. Huyton accompanied them on horseback. The ladies made themselves very pleasant; the mother conversing with Mr. Duncan, evidently and sincerely interested by the courteous manners, mild countenance, and quiet cheerfulness of the blind clergyman; Victoria devoting herself to Hilary with a sweetness, complaisance, and air of satisfaction, which, after her former reception, quite astonished Miss Duncan. She was delighted to meet her young acquaintance again; she was enraptured by the drive, enchanted with the dear, picturesque old parsonage, captivated by the charming antique room, with its old oak wainscotting, and fine rare china vases, bequests from Mr. Duncan’s grandmother. She called Nest to her, and kissed and caressed the beautiful child, wanted to draw her portrait, begged to have her to spend the day with her, to all which requests Hilary replied with little more than a smile, considering them too entirely ideal to deserve a serious answer. But in the middle of one of her most complimentary speeches, Victoria was astonished to see Hilary suddenly start from her seat, stand one moment gazing through the window, with clasped hands and parted lips, and the next spring from the room, and disappear altogether.
Charles Huyton, who had been chatting with the other girls, rose and looked after her with an expression of anxiety and alarm, then approaching his cousin, asked if any thing was the matter with Miss Duncan.
“You, who know her so well,” replied Victoria, with a peculiar smile, “ought to be aware if this is her usual manner to her guests. May be it is the perfection of English politeness!”
But little Nest ran after her sister, and throwing open the door, disclosed to their view, in the vestibule, Hilary clasped in