She smiled on him as she had not done on Lester Vane. She talked to him with less reserve than she would have displayed if that particular subject had not been broached; and Vane grew absolutely envious to find that Malcolm, who had not had the benefit of a friendly word from Mr. Wilton, made evidently more rapid progress in his daughter’s good graces than he who stood before her with the advantages of person, rank, and a powerful recommendation from her father. He looked on Malcolm’s claim to her favour as simply contemptible. He had a mean opinion of his intellect and of his capabilities. As a rival, he would have laughed him to scorn. He could hardly understand, therefore, the progress he had made in Flora’s good opinion. It was something of a lesson. He, however, dismissed the impression it had for a moment made upon his mind; he accounted for it, in accordance with his own low estimate of feminine truth and purity, by the conceit that Flora was playing off Malcolm against him, with the view of securing, by that small piece of coquetry, his direct attention.
Malcolm failed, notwithstanding his diligent inquiries, to learn more about Lotte than that she was no longer in the house, and that she lived in London, in the western quarter; there the conversation respecting her ceased. He had sense enough to understand that to pursue it further would be to make his notice of her too marked.
Having renewed a pressing invitation to Wilton and his daughter, if they would graciously waive the introductory visit of his mamma, on account of his sister Helen’s sudden attack, and having, as he believed—and with some show of reason—rendered himself quite as agreeable to Miss Wilton as could, under the circumstances, be expected, he took his leave, accompanied by Lester Vane.
The latter individual, wholly indifferent as to the effect he might produce upon the minds of the gentlemen there assembled, was very desirous of creating an impression upon Flora.
But he failed to attract even a glance from her, and her hand motionless under his pressure, was hastily withdrawn, even as he touched it. When he retired through the doorway, he saw that her gaze was fastened upon the face of the young and handsome person introduced to him as Mr. Vivian.
His quick eye and his experience noted all these symptoms of the small way he had made in her favour.
“Yet,” said he to himself, “she will fall far more easily into my mesh than Helen Grahame. She is so pure, so guileless, so innocent of the world’s ways, that she is without suspicion—that best defence for woman against man’s art. My heart now aches to gain her. She must be mine, my wife be it—but she shall be mine!”
He had at his departure, informed Wilton that he should take advantage of his friendly invitation, and he hoped that his occasional visits would not be deemed intrusive. The warmth with which old Wilton responded to this suggestion by repeating his desire that he would frequently test his hospitality, removed any hesitation he might have in again presenting himself there without a special invitation, and he determined quickly to avail himself of an opening so eminently favourable to his design to lay siege to Flora’s heart.
Somehow, the interruption caused by these visitors seemed to render the remaining part of the day less cheerful and happy than it had commenced.
Old Wilton sat in his easy chair, plunged in deep thought. Colonel Mires, though full of rumination, took care to prevent a repetition of Hal and Flora’s tête-à-tête, by joining them. Flora occasionally appeared abstracted, and Hal wore an expression upon his face very much as if his visions of the future were clouded and sad.