There was a silence which, for a time, neither cared to break.
"Well," said Walter, at length, "I shall have to go alone. To-morrow morning I will arrange my business,—not forgetting our securities,—and start in the afternoon train."
"Your father often spoke of Cousin Augustus and his lovely wife; I wonder if the daughter has her mother's beauty?"
"I can't tell. I hope so. But don't look so inquiringly. I don't love a woman in the world,—except you, mother. I shan't fall in love, even if she is an angel."
"If Cousin Augustus should be worse,—should die, what will become of the poor motherless child?"
"There are no nearer relatives than we, mother,—and we must give her a home, if she will come."
"Certainly, Walter, we must not be hard-hearted."
Mrs. Monroe was charitable, kind, and motherly towards the distressed; she felt the force of her son's generous sentiments. If it were her Cousin Augustus himself who was to be sheltered, or his son, if he had one,—or if the daughter were unattractive, a hoyden even, she would cheerfully make any sacrifice in favor of hospitality. But she could not repress a secret fear lest the beauty and innocence of the orphan should appeal too strongly to Walter's heart. She knew the natural destiny of agreeable young men; she acknowledged to herself that Walter would sometime marry; but she put the time far off as an evil day, and kept the subject under ban. None of her neighbors who had pretty daughters were encouraged to visit her on intimate terms. She almost frowned upon every winsome face that crossed her threshold when Walter was at home. So absorbing was this feeling, that she was not aware of its existence, but watched her son by a sort of instinct. Her conduct was not the result of cool calculation, and, if it could have been properly set before her generous, kindly heart, she would have been shocked at her own fond selfishness.
So she sat and speculated, balancing between fear and hope. If Walter built air-castles, was he to blame? At twenty-four, with a heart untouched, with fresh susceptibilities, and a little romance withal, is it to be wondered that his fancy drew such pleasing pictures of his cousin?
We will leave them to their quiet evening's enjoyment and follow
Greenleaf to the house of Mr. Sandford.