"Miss Verne is an out-and-out Conservative, I can assure you," said Mr. Metcalfe, who now came to the relief of his countrywoman with a feeling of pride. "She can advocate the National Policy in a manner that would gain over the most stubborn Grit."
"Ah! Mr. Metcalfe, please do not over-rate my abilities in that respect," said Marguerite in a manner which coolly implied that she did not wish to get up such an argument as she certainly must if confronted by the strong Grit views of her interesting and witty companion.
"Never mind, Marguerite, we will not measure weapons this time," cried the former, "But I must try to shake some of the Tory off before we have done with you. Remember I have made more than one staunch Liberal convert."
Marguerite laughed at the girl's spirit of enthusiasm and thought "what a power is woman when her energies are directed aright?" Then her thoughts took rapid flight to another and different subject. She was thinking if it were possible for woman to exert her influence in the manner she would like that the end would justify the means.
"Not that exactly," mused the maiden as she thought of—but, perhaps, it is better we do not unearth Marguerite Verne's thoughts at that moment. She is doubtless sensitive, let us act accordingly and turn to other subjects. There was a sweet simplicity in her attire on this evening. Her dress of pale-blue bunting was plain indeed, and save the silver bracelets upon her beautifully-rounded arms, there was no other attempt at ornament.
Her cheeks were pale, and a shade thinner than usual, and to this fact the girl may attribute her liberty or rather freedom from the giddy rounds of dissipation into which she was reluctantly forced from morn to dewy eve and from dewy eve to rising morn.
Mrs. Verne had to acknowledge that her daughter's health was getting impaired, and that nothing but rest would restore her former strength, therefore consented that Marguerite should spend a few days with the young lady whom she met and became on intimate terms during a short time spent on one of the steamers plying between Liverpool and Belfast.
Edith Stanhope, as we have hitherto intimated, was a bright, witty
English girl, and her companionship was healthful and invigorating.
She admired the gentle, winning, child-like ways of the New
Brunswick maiden, and together they formed a pretty picture.
Mr. Stanhope had been a widower for many years, his household affairs being managed by a maiden sister, whose affection for the child Edith increased as the latter grew to womanhood, and nowhere could be found a more peaceful, inviting and cosy little nest than that of the much esteemed and venerable lawyer—Charles Stanhope, of Cheapside.