Christian life; Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Young women -- Conduct of life -- Fiction
It soon appeared that the woman was not materially hurt,--the horses,
more sagacious and humane than their riders, having cleared without
striking her. Her cottage was not fifty yards distant from the spot, and
Miss Mortimer, with the stranger, conducted her home; whilst I stood
biting my glove, and affecting to superintend the people who were
raising our overturned vehicle. The charitable pair soon returned.
Neither of us being inclined to mount the curricle again, Miss Mortimer
proposed that we should walk home, and send an apology to our party. But
dreading that the temptation of an evening's _tête-à-tête_ might draw
something like a lecture from Miss Mortimer, I determined to accomplish
my visit; and she consented that we should proceed on foot, giving, at
the same time, permission to her companion to attend us.
I felt a sullen disinclination to talk, and therefore had full leisure
to examine the stranger, whom Miss Mortimer introduced to me by the name
of Maitland, adding that he was her old acquaintance. He was a tall,
erect man, of a figure more athletic than graceful. His features were
tolerably regular, and his eyes the brightest I have ever seen; but he
was deprived of his pretensions to be called handsome, by a certain
_bony_ squareness of countenance, which we on the south side of the
Tweed are accustomed to account a national deformity. His smile was
uncommonly pleasing, either from its contrast with the ordinary cast of
his countenance, or because it displayed the whitest and most regular
teeth in the world; but he smiled so seldom as almost to forfeit these
advantages. His accent was certainly provincial; yet I believe that,
without the assistance of his name, I could not decidedly have
pronounced him to be a Scotchman. His language, however, was that of a
gentleman; always correct, often forcible, and sometimes elegant. But he
spoke little, and his conversation borrowed neither strength nor grace
from his manner, which was singularly calm, motionless, and
unimpassioned.
Either from habitual reserve with strangers, or from particular
disapprobation of me, he addressed himself almost entirely to Miss
Mortimer, paying me no other attentions than bare civility required; and
I, who had already begun to expect far other devoirs, from every man who
accosted me, rejoiced when the conclusion of our walk separated us from
the presumptuous being who had dared to treat me as a secondary person.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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