Instead of the open, childish, affectionate familiarity with which Virginia used to meet Clarence Hervey, she now received him with reserved, timid embarrassment. Struck by this change in her manner, and alarmed by the dejection of her spirits, which she vainly strove to conceal, he eagerly inquired, from Mrs. Ormond, into the cause of this alteration. Mrs. Ormond’s answers, and her account of all that had passed during his absence, increased his anxiety. His indignation was roused by the insult which Virginia had been offered by the strangers who had scaled the garden-wall. All his endeavours to discover who they were proved ineffectual; but, lest they should venture to repeat their visit, he removed her from Windsor, and took her directly to Twickenham. Here he stayed with her and Mrs. Ormond some days, to determine, by his own observation, how far the representations that had been made to him were just. Till this period he had been persuaded that Virginia’s regard for him was rather that of gratitude than of love; and with this opinion, he thought that he had no reason seriously to reproach himself for the imprudence with which he had betrayed the partiality that he felt for her in the beginning of their acquaintance. He flattered himself that even should she have discerned his intentions, her heart would not repine at any alteration in his sentiments; and if her happiness were uninjured, his reason told him that he was not in honour bound to constancy. The case was now altered. Unwilling as he was to believe, he could no longer doubt. Virginia could neither meet his eyes nor speak to him without a degree of embarrassment which she had not sufficient art to conceal: she trembled whenever he came near her, and if he looked grave, or forbore to take notice of her, she would burst into tears. At other times, contrary to the natural indolence of her character, she would exert herself to please him with surprising energy: she learned every thing that he wished; her capacity seemed suddenly to unfold. For an instant, Clarence flattered himself that both her fits of melancholy and of exertion might arise from a secret desire to see something of that world from which she had been secluded. One day he touched upon this subject, to see what effect it would produce; but, contrary to his expectations, she seemed to have no desire to quit her retirement: she did not wish, she said, for amusements such as he described; she did not wish to go into the world. It was during the time of his passion for her that Clarence had her picture painted in the character of St. Pierre’s Virginia. It happened to be in the room in which they were now conversing, and when she spoke of loving a life of retirement, Clarence accidentally cast his eyes upon the picture, and then upon Virginia. She turned away--sighed deeply; and when, in a tone of kindness, he asked her if she were unhappy, she hid her face in her hands, and made no answer.