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"Which he pursues by riding about with you," said the old gentleman, in his usual dry, satirical vein.

"He pursues it," returned Maria, haughtily, "as every man ought to do. I was taking my usual airing, met him, and induced him to take my groom's horse."

The account would have been perfectly satisfactory to her old friend, but for the torrent of blushes, and the angry, yet somewhat timid tone, in which it was uttered. Mr. Elderton pursued his way, spent the evening with the family, and walked home with the young man, who, he confessed to himself, was indeed (for that neighbourhood) quite a paragon, but he yet internally maintained "ought never to think of Maria."

Again, and again, he met them, and closely observed the conduct of Frank, whose evenings were usually enlivened by running over, if but for a single hour, to Mr. Falconer's—when by chance he did not come, it was evident that Maria's mind was estranged, her instrument was out of tune, her voice affected by the air—the books she had lately read were all of his recommending, the letter she had been writing to Ellen was filled with anecdotes which he had related, or traits of virtue and sensibility, which he had exhibited. It appeared evident to the awakened mind of her old friend, that Maria had decidedly imbibed that passion which would give colour to her future existence, but he knew not whether the total indifference evinced on the subject by her parents, arose from a concurrence with the wishes of the young people, caused by their evidently deep regard for young Ingalton, or from the pressure of more affecting, though suppressed objects of anxiety, acting upon their spirits and preventing due attention to one of so much moment.