Mrs. James heard this, however, and, elated by Mary’s coming to her house that morning, and her own expected triumph over Christian, she could not resist the temptation. “Oh, Christian has such strange notions,” she said gaily, “she likes things that nobody else does. I can’t conceive why you are all continually quoting Christian—Christian! one hears nothing else from James and you, Mary, but Christian, Christian.”
“Christian never set her own inclination in opposition to any other person’s wish in her life,” said Mary, warmly; “you do not know Christian, Elizabeth, or you would not speak of her so.”
“Miss Melville’s good qualities,” chimed in Forsyth, “Miss Melville’s rare qualities, must gain as much admiration wherever she is seen, as they seem to have gotten love and reverence from all who are within the range of their beneficent exercise, and who have the privilege of knowing their value fully;” and he smiled his sweetest smile in Mary’s face, as she looked up to him with grateful glistening eyes, and inwardly thanked him for his appreciation of dear Christian in her heart.
How superior, thought Mary, is he to such worldly people as Elizabeth, and her coterie, he appreciates Christian, he can estimate her properly. Yet Mary, all the time that her heart glowed under these feelings towards Forsyth, felt that she had thwarted Christian’s warmest wishes, and is still farther thwarting them by the very look with which she thanked Forsyth for his championship. Mrs. James is at the window carefully examining the leaves of some rare winter plants—another gift of Forsyth’s giving; and there ensues another awkward silence. At length she breaks in once more.
“Am I to have my music, Mary? will you fulfil the conditions Mr. Forsyth has attached to this, or shall I have to send it back again?”
Forsyth is leaning over her chair, anxiously waiting for her answer. Mary is at a loss what to do, but cannot say, No. Again Mrs. James is occupied with the flowers.
“This is an era with me, Miss Melville,” Forsyth whispered in Mary’s ear; “this day twelve months I first saw you.”
Mary’s fingers still hold the music, but the sheets tremble in her hands. “Is it, indeed?” she says. “Oh, yes! I remember, it was at Elizabeth’s annual party! It is an era to us all, also. We too have many recollections connected with the New Year, but they are all sorrowful.”
“Not mine,” returned Forsyth. “Do you know, Miss Melville, I was much struck then by your resemblance to a young man I once knew in Edinburgh, a very fine gentleman-like lad of your own name too. I often wonder what has become of him. I had some hand in inducing him to change some ridiculously rigid opinions of his; when a fit of superstitious fear came over him, and I believe his regard for me changed to a perfect hatred.”
Here Mr. Forsyth looked over to Mrs. James, as much as to say, it was full time for her to go away.