Mr. Johnstone acknowledged the compliment courteously, but he never took his eyes off his young hostess, who appeared in them a miracle of grace and beauty.
With the skill of a man of the world, he drew her into animated conversation, gathering from her information respecting the country round, the different meets of the hounds, the neighbours, the tradespeople, the horses. Time slipped away almost unperceived, and neither lady knew how it had sped, when Mr. Ives, mounted on his handsome bay cob, rode up to the door.
Mr. Ives beheld with some surprise his daughter and her friend in full converse with a stranger.
The scene was worthy of a Watteau's brush—the sun just sinking behind the orchard trees gilding the edge of each leaf, shone on the dark red of John Johnstone's dress, warmed the sombre hue of fair Betty's lincoln green, and played on the blue and primrose of Mistress Mary's flower-like costume. It was a fair picture, and no eye could rest on a goodlier couple than the tall lithe young man, and the noble maiden.
"It was courteous of him to pay us one of the first, nay, the first of his neighbourly visits," said the good parson, exchanging his tie-wig for a comfortable flannel night-cap, when he was once more alone with his daughter.
"Next time he comes I will reward him with some of our golden plums," said Betty gaily as she fixed her white teeth in the tender skin of one that was lusciously ripe.
Mistress Mary to her maid described the newcomer thus:
"He is tall, Deborah, very tall; slight, but with shoulders of great breadth, and a square neck—one would say that his strength was herculean. His eyes are dark blue, his nose a trifle arched, brows thick and square, a sweet mouth—a very sweet mouth—but wondrous stern all the same. But his manners, Deborah, and his curling dark hair, just slightly dashed with powder—his manners are perfect! his hair is divine! Heigh-ho, Deborah!"
CHAPTER III.