The morning on which the squire and his daughter had parted with Hamilton, they had immediately gone home; Mr. Mortimer retired to bed and to sleep; his daughter to bed, but not to sleep. Some hours after she descended to the parlour, where she found herself in the affectionate arms of her brother John. Having asked many kind questions about herself and their father, and how she liked London, he could not help observing, that, retaining all her sweetness and tenderness, she was much less sprightly and communicative.--“What’s the matter with you, Maria? have you lost your heart that you are so pensive?” At this question, Maria bushed, but pretended to laugh. Before she could answer the question, her father making his appearance, after the reciprocity of embrace, of looks, and expressions, that parental and filial love might be expected to produce, and some discourse on private and domestic affairs, he turned to his daughter:--“Well, Maria, how long,” he said, “have you been up?” “Near these two hours, sir.” “O, then you have been telling John all the fine sights you have seen, at the plays, and operas, and Ranelagh, and Vauxhall.” “Very little of that,” said John. “And of his friend, our fellow-traveller.”--“My friend, your fellow-traveller?” said the son: “no not a word: who was he?” “Lord, girl, how came you to be so forgetful? Besides, the young man was really very civil to you.” Maria again blushed. “Who is the subject of your discourse?” said John. “Your friend Mr. Hamilton was our fellow traveller from Hertford; and as fine a young man as ever I saw; is he not, Maria?”--“Pretty well, pretty well,” replied the lady; “nothing extraordinary,” repeating her blushes. “Pretty well!” replied the father; “by the lord Harry, miss, I believe you had not the use of your eyes. I think he’s a very handsome and a very fine young man. I am sure John does not agree in your opinion, do you, John?” “Not in the opinion which she has expressed.” “And besides you are to consider you are very much obliged to him; he saved you from a very bad fall.” Maria now pretended some errand out of the room, and the father continued to descant upon the agreeableness of Hamilton, and his attentions to Maria and to him on finding who they were. “I don’t know how it was,” he said, “Maria is an excellent girl, and a daughter to my wish, and I have hardly any occasion to find fault with her, but she was silent and reserved during most of the journey. I invited your friend to visit us as he returns from Scotland. I winked and even whispered to her, that out of common civility she ought to join in the invitation, but she did not say a word.”