Her eyes, of a light and yet too positive a blue to be mistaken for grey, were fringed with long dark lashes, which imparted to them—ever gay and sparkling as they were—a magic eloquence as powerful as that of the most faultless beauty. And, again, in strange contrast with those dark lashes was her flaxen hair, the whole of which fell in ringlets and in waves over her shoulders and her back, no portion of it being collected in a knot behind.
Then her form—it was so slight as to appear almost etherealised, and yet there was no mistaking the symmetry of its proportions.
Thus—without being actually beautiful—Mary-Anne was a creature of light and joy who was calculated to interest, fascinate, and win, in a manner which produced feelings of admiration and of love. Her appearance therefore produced upon the mind an impression that she was beautiful—very beautiful; and yet, if any one had paused to analyse her features, she would have been found to possess no real elements of physical loveliness. She was charming—fascinating—bewitching—interesting; therefore lovely in one sense, and loveable in all respects!
Mary-Anne was a very difficult pupil to teach. In the midst of the most serious study, that charming and volatile creature would start from her chair, run to her piano, and commence a lively air, which she would leave also unfinished, and then narrate some sprightly anecdote, or utter some artless sally, which would create a general laugh.
The seriousness of the tutor would be disturbed in spite of himself: and even her father, if present, could not find it in his heart to scold.
The drawing would at length be resumed; and for half an hour, the application of Mary-Anne would be intense. Then away would be flung the pencil; and a new freak must be accomplished before the study would be resumed.
Richard could not help liking this volatile, but artless and innocent creature—as a man likes his daughter or his sister; and she, on her part, appeared to become greatly attached to her tutor.
Although Mr. Gregory followed no profession, being a man of considerable independent property, he was nevertheless much from home, passing his time either at the library of the British Museum or at his Club. Richard and Mary-Anne were thus much together—too much for the peace of that innocent and fascinating girl!
She speedily conceived a violent passion for her tutor, which he, however, neither perceived nor returned.
She was herself unaware of the nature of her own feelings towards him;—she knew as much of love and its sensations as a beauteous savage girl, in some far-off isle, knows of Christianity;—and hers was an attachment which could only be revealed to herself by some accident, which might excite her jealousy or awaken her grief.
One morning, before the usual lessons of the day commenced, Mr. Gregory entered the study, and, addressing himself to Markham, said, "We must now give the young people a holiday for a short time. Proper relaxation is as necessary to their bodily welfare as education to their mental well-being. We will suspend their studies for a month, if you be agreeable, Mr. Markham. I shall, however, be always pleased to see you as often as you choose to call during that interval; and every Sunday, at all events, we shall expect the pleasure of your company to dinner as usual."
"What!" cried Mary-Anne; "is Mr. Markham to discontinue his daily visits for a whole month?"
"Certainly, my dear," said her father. "Mr. Markham requires a holiday as well as you."
"I want no holiday," exclaimed Mary-Anne, pouting her lips in a manner that was quite charming, and which might remind the reader of the petite moue that Esmeralda was accustomed to make in Victor Hugo's admirable novel Notre Dame de Paris.
"But you always take a holiday, my dear," returned her father with a smile; "and therefore you fancy that others do not require a temporary relaxation. Gustavus and Lionel want a holiday; and Mr. Markham cannot be always poring over books and drawings."
"Well, I wish Mr. Markham to take the trouble to come every morning and give me my drawing lesson," said the young lady, with a little air of decision and firmness, which was quite comic in its way; "and if he will not," she added, "then I will never learn to draw any more—and that is decided."
Mr. Gregory surveyed his daughter with an air of astonishment.
Probably he half penetrated the secret—for her passion could not be called her secret, because she was totally unconscious of the nature of her feelings, and sought to conceal nothing.
Had she been aware of the real sentiment which she experienced, she would have at once revealed it; for she was guileless and unsuspicious—ignorant of all deceit—devoid of all hypocrisy—and endowed with as much simplicity and artlessness as a child of six years old.
"Mr. Markham must have a holiday, my dear," said Mr. Gregory, at length, with a peculiar emphasis; "and I beg that no further objection may be offered."
Mary-Anne instantly burst into tears, exclaiming, in a voice almost choked with sobs, "Mr. Markham may have his holiday, if he likes; but I will not learn any thing more of him when the studies begin again."
And she retired in a pet to another apartment.
Markham was himself astonished at this singular behaviour on the part of his interesting pupil.
He was, however, far from suspecting the real cause, and took his leave with a promise to return to dinner on the following Sunday, until which time there was then an interval of five days.
Three days after the one on which the above conversation took place, Markham was about to issue from his dwelling to proceed into town for the purpose of calling upon the manager, as he had that morning seen his drama advertised for early representation—when Whittingham informed him that a young lady desired to speak to him In the drawing-room.
The idea of Isabella instantly flashed through the mind of Richard:—but would she call upon him, alone and unattended? No—for Isabella, was modesty and prudence personified.
Then, who could it be?
Markham asked this question of his butler.
"A remarkable sweet creatur," said Whittingham; "and come quite spontaneous like. Beautiful flaxy hair—blue eyes—pale complexion—"
"Impossible! you do not say that, Whittingham?" cried Markham, on whom a light now broke.
"Do I look like a man that speaks evasiously, Master Richard?" demanded the butler, shifting his inseparable companion—the white napkin—from beneath one arm to the other.
Markham repaired to the drawing-room:—his suspicions were verified;—the moment he entered the apartment, he beheld Miss Gregory seated upon the sofa.
"Well, Mr. Markham," she said, extending to him her hand, and smiling so sweetly with her vermilion lips, which disclosed a set of teeth not quite even, but as white as ivory, that Richard could not find it in his heart to be angry with her; "I was resolved not to pass the day without seeing you; and as you would not come to me, I was compelled to come to you."
"But, Miss Gregory," said Markham, "are you not aware that you have taken a most imprudent step, and that the world would highly censure your conduct?"
"Why?" demanded Mary-Anne, in astonishment.
"Because ladies, no matter whether single or married, never call upon single gentlemen; and society has laid down certain rules in this respect, which—"
"My dear Mr. Markham, you are not giving me a lesson now, remember, in my father's study," interrupted Mary-Anne, laughing heartily. "I know nothing about the rules of society in this respect, or that respect, or any other respect. All I know is, that I cried all night long after you left us the other day; and I have been very miserable until this morning, when I suddenly recollected that I knew