Perceiving that there was no more to be said, Mabel put on her bonnet, and, with Mr. Morley, wished her good evening.

"Well," said her companion, when they were again in the street, "you have to fight the battle of life under new circ.u.mstances, that is all."

"Yes, that is all," said Mabel, cheerfully, "and with many thanks for the helping hand you have given me."

"I fear you will not be sufficiently tried to bring out the whole strength of your moral character, which I wish, for your sake, to see developed. She half loves you already."

"I wish that were true," said Mabel, laughing. "I am not sufficiently heroic to object to anything so pleasant as that. I should be quite miserable if I could get no one to love me."

"For shame!" said Mr. Morley, turning sternly upon her. "Is it not sufficient pleasure to feel that you are doing your duty."

"Sufficient to make me do it, perhaps; but still, there is something so pleasant in being loved by those about us, that I would not willingly place myself in a position where it was impossible, unless called upon by some imperative duty."

"Earth--earth--earth," said Mr. Morley, stopping at the door in Sydney Place, "clinging every where--mixing with every thing."

"Oh, do not be angry with me," said Mabel, "for such a little fault."

"Oh, earth, earth," he repeated, even when the door opened, "your spirit is every where." And turning away, spite of everything she said, he went off down the street, repeating still between his teeth--"Earth--earth--earth."

CHAPTER VII.

It hath done its sacred mission Sorrow's hand was sent to cure, Bless it for the bitter anguish Thou wert called on to endure.

CULVER ALLEN.

"Only one week," thought Maria, "and the house will be cleared of a nuisance; but I must play my cards well for this one week, short as it is, or my game will be lost."

She was standing in the drawing-room as she said this, dangling her bonnet by one string, for she had just come in from their afternoon's walk in the park, and from busy, shopping, fascinating Milsom Street.

"Let me only keep things right for one week," she continued, to herself, "and I have him; but I fear it is but a desperate chance."

She was interrupted in these meditations by a brisk rapping at the street-door, and, very soon afterwards, Mr. Stokes made his appearance, and Maria's quick eye immediately saw signs of a proposal in the carefully arranged morning costume, and the very precise tie of his cravat, though, that the same proposal would not be meant for her, she saw with equal readiness.

His first enquiry was--"Whether it was quite true that Miss Lesly was about to leave them?"

"How tiresome," said Maria, "then I suppose every one knows it; and yet we have been so anxious to keep it private."

Here she looked much vexed.

"What has gone wrong, then?" enquired the Squire.

"Oh, nothing," said Maria, in a tone which implied everything had. "It is true, we are obliged to send her away; but there is no use making a talk about it. It is no business of anybody's, is it?"

"Oh, dear no," said the Squire, nervously.

"I should think one's poor relations might be sent to their native obscurity, without everybody's taking it up," added Maria.

"Yes--but she seems so sweet-tempered. I should have thought her a great acquisition to your family party."

"You do not really mean to say you think so?" said she, looking as if she would say--"I know you are a better judge than that"--"She is sweet in company, I know--but in private she is as haughty as a young d.u.c.h.ess--She even finds fault with mamma. She comes of a good family, certainly; but, I fear, she is something like the dregs of the cask, only a little bit turned sour."

Mr. Stokes began whipping his boots, as if greatly annoyed at the dust upon them.

"Oh, dear," said Maria; "let me get you a duster."

She instantly sprang to an old arm-chair, and bringing one from its secret recesses, began dusting his boots, upon her knees, before he had time to prevent her.

"Well," she said, rising, and resuming her seat, and glancing at his large, but well-turned foot, "there is nothing to be ashamed about."

"Really," he said, jocosely, "I ought to feel flattered."

"Well," said Maria, resuming the conversation she had interrupted, "I am thankful I have not a pretty face--it is the fruit of more mischief than enough."

Mr. Stokes gave another stroke to his boots--(there was not a particle of dust remaining on them.)

"Oh, I forgot," said Maria, unlocking her work-box; "I have not given you your last pocket-handkerchief--Is not this beautiful work?"

Mabel had finished it for her.

As she said this, she held it so close to his eyes, that, for gallantry's sake, he was forced to kiss the hand that offered it.

He did so; and Maria gave him a very gentle slap on the cheek, at the same time, bringing her half laughing, half pouting face so near his, that, forgetful of better manners, he gave it a kiss.

Maria only laughed still more, saying--

"Oh, you naughty man--fie, for shame."

The Squire laughed, too, though not so gaily, for he had been turned in a purpose which he hoped would have secured his domestic happiness, so that he soon shook hands with her, and hurried away.

Maria was delighted with the success of her interview, and went about the house in the most evident spirits.

But in the evening came a P. P. C. card from Mr. Stokes; and she learnt that he had started for Gloucestershire.

Maria was so put out with this information, that she could have killed flies, rather than have revenged her injured feelings on nothing; and she eagerly seized the better opportunity of gratifying herself by spiting Mabel.

Every discomfort that she could throw in her way--every allusion before strangers to her destination, as a governess, were eagerly used for her annoyance. If she were out of spirits, she asked some question, which forcibly dragged into sight the worst points of her position--or pitied her in that tone and manner, which has placed pity as akin to contempt.

But, with all this, Mabel contended only with patience and good temper, though she, sometimes thought, that hours of heavy trial were scarcely so difficult to bear, as the perpetual annoyances by which she was surrounded.

Had one discontented word, one pa.s.sionate or impatient look escaped her, Mrs. Villars would have had a lighter conscience; but, as it was, she would willingly have entreated her to remain, had it not been for Caroline, whose fiery temper so greatly awed her. Alas! unhappy woman, few would envy you. The thought of the orphan's money, procured for past wanton and thoughtless expenditure; dresses, flowers, and finery, which were now only enc.u.mbrances; shows and visits, which had answered no purpose--these were but slight compensations for a wounded conscience.

"Only one week," also soliloquised Lucy, as she sat near the old-fashioned window, of the study, and looked out, sadly--"only one week, and Mabel will be gone; and yet nothing I can say can stop this cruel act."

She leant her elbow on the window sill, and supported her head with her hand.