"Well," she said, rising, and resuming her seat, and glancing at his large, but well-turned foot, "there is nothing to be ashamed about." "Really," he said, jocosely, "I ought to feel flattered." "Well," said Maria, resuming the conversation she had interrupted, "I am thankful I have not a pretty face--it is the fruit of more mischief than enough." Mr. Stokes gave another stroke to his boots--(there was not a particle of dust remaining on them.) "Oh, I forgot," said Maria, unlocking her work-box; "I have not given you your last pocket-handkerchief--Is not this beautiful work?" Mabel had finished it for her. As she said this, she held it so close to his eyes, that, for gallantry's sake, he was forced to kiss the hand that offered it. He did so; and Maria gave him a very gentle slap on the cheek, at the same time, bringing her half laughing, half pouting face so near his, that, forgetful of better manners, he gave it a kiss. Maria only laughed still more, saying-- "Oh, you naughty man--fie, for shame." The Squire laughed, too, though not so gaily, for he had been turned in a purpose which he hoped would have secured his domestic happiness, so that he soon shook hands with her, and hurried away. Maria was delighted with the success of her interview, and went about the house in the most evident spirits. But in the evening came a P. P. C. card from Mr. Stokes; and she learnt that he had started for Gloucestershire. Maria was so put out with this information, that she could have killed flies, rather than have revenged her injured feelings on nothing; and she eagerly seized the better opportunity of gratifying herself by spiting Mabel. Every discomfort that she could throw in her way--every allusion before strangers to her destination, as a governess, were eagerly used for her annoyance. If she were out of spirits, she asked some question, which forcibly dragged into sight the worst points of her position--or pitied her in that tone and manner, which has placed pity as akin to contempt. But, with all this, Mabel contended only with patience and good temper, though she, sometimes thought, that hours of heavy trial were scarcely so difficult to bear, as the perpetual annoyances by which she was surrounded. Had one discontented word, one passionate or impatient look escaped her, Mrs. Villars would have had a lighter conscience; but, as it was, she would willingly have entreated her to remain, had it not been for Caroline, whose fiery temper so greatly awed her. Alas! unhappy woman, few would envy you. The thought of the orphan's money, procured for past wanton and thoughtless expenditure; dresses, flowers, and finery, which were now only encumbrances; shows and visits, which had answered no purpose--these were but slight compensations for a wounded conscience.