As Maria St. Clair came forward to meet this man, to whom she owed, as she thought, such a debt of gratitude, Edward Armstrong, in spite of his own good opinion of himself, was conscious of a feeling of inferiority. The young girl before him in the simple white morning dress, had a manner and bearing which seemed to place him at an immeasurable distance. True, there was a modest timidity and a blushing confusion, which added a charm to the beautiful face, as she held out her hand and answered his inquiries for her health with lady-like ease. Yet Edward Armstrong was some minutes before he could feel himself quite at home in the company of these ladies. We are all liable to be influenced by externals, and therefore when Edward Armstrong met Mrs. St. Clair and her daughter at their own residence, the impression produced on his mind differed greatly from what he had felt in the Isle of Wight. There he had been introduced to them in the sombre and old-fashioned drawing-room of a lodging-house, but here everything spoke of refinement and elegance. There was nothing pretensive or ostentatious about the house or the noble entrance, even the drawing-room in which they sat had a low ceiling, and the furniture was neither luxurious nor new. But it bore the impress of refined taste, and like all articles bought for their intrinsic value rather than for show, bid fair to last for many years longer in good condition. Yet not even the antique cabinets, the curiously-wrought worktables, and other valuable ornaments would have been sufficient to produce in Edward Armstrong the impression referred to. It was the _toute ensemble_,--the old-fashioned red brick house, the broad oaken stairs, with the centre covered with Brussels carpet; the long, low drawing-room, its windows opening to the ground on a balcony; the delicate chintz covering to chairs and couches; the flowers, the music, the lace curtains, and the presence of two gentle, lady-like women, one in her widow's dress contrasting to her daughter's simple white, all intermixed with the perfume of flowers, and finished by the glorious prospect stretched out before the windows, made up a picture which Edward Armstrong never forgot. "You must stay to luncheon, Mr. Armstrong," remarked Mrs. St. Clair, after they had talked for more than half an hour over the still absorbing topic of the boat accident at West Cowes. "I fear I shall not be able to remain," he replied, "as I have business in Richmond which will detain me for some time to-day; but if it would be agreeable, Mrs. St. Clair, I will spend an afternoon with you next week on any day you may find it convenient."