Maria reached London in the early days of June. Her voyage had been uneventful, and though long, not unpleasant. Still she was glad to feel the earth beneath her feet, and the stir of trafficking humanity around her. They landed late in the afternoon and she remained with the Gordons all night, but early the following morning the colonel took her to Bloomsbury. Mr. Semple's house was not difficult to find; it was the largest in the fine square, an imposing mansion of red brick with a wide flight of stone steps leading to its main entrance. This entrance impressed Maria very much. It was so ample and so handsome. "I think, indeed," said the Colonel to her, "two sedan chairs could easily be taken in, or out, at the same time." Her welcome, if not effusive, was full of kindness and interest; she was brought at once to the sunny parlor at the back of the house where her father and stepmother were breakfasting, and nothing could have been more properly affectionate than the latter's greeting. And although she had breakfasted with the Gordons, she found it pleasant enough to sit down beside her father and talk of the voyage and the war, and the conditions of life in America. He was obviously both astonished and delighted with his daughter; her beauty was so great, her manner so charming, her conversation so full of clever observations, that he felt her to be a personal credit. "There are very few young girls so perfectly formed, so admirably finished," he said to himself; and he rose and walked loftily about the room, proudly aware of the piquant loveliness and intelligence of the girl who called him father. The word sounded well in his ears, and even touched his heart; and she herself was a crowning grace to his splendid habitation. And for her, and for all her beauties and graces and accomplishments, he took the entire credit. She was his daughter, as much his property as his wife, or his house, or his purse. This appropriation of herself did not then displease Maria. She was longing to be loved, longing to be cared for and protected. And she loved her father, and felt that she could easily love him a great deal more. His appearance invited this feeling. He was a strikingly handsome man, though touching fifty years of age, tall and erect like her grandfather, but with a manner much more haughty and dictatorial. He was dressed in a dark blue cloth coat lined with white satin and ornamented with large gilt buttons; his long vest and breeches were of black satin, his stockings of black silk, and his low shoes clasped with gold latches. He wore his own hair combed back from his large ruddy face and tied behind with a black ribbon.