His arrival in itself was rather a disappointment to the younger girls; he came down in so very unheroic a style, as little accorded with their romantic fancies regarding him. In the first place, he did not take them by surprise, but having written to announce his intention, afterward came just when he had promised, and might have been expected. Then he drove up in a gig, and brought a portmanteau and hat-box; he wore a black coat, and an ordinary hat, and seemed to have met neither misfortunes nor adventures on his journey. He certainly was tall and handsome, but he was also quiet and grave, with a complexion so bronzed by weather, and an expression so thoughtful and sedate, as to give him the appearance of six or eight years more than his actual age. The two girls were awed into silence and fear, and even Hilary felt the regard she had already imbibed for him, deepen into a respect almost too strong to be compatible with ease, and which produced an appearance of timidity and reserve in her manners, not at all usual with her. This, however, was only at first; fear soon wore off with him, for he was as simple as he was quiet in his habits and manners, and as easily pleased as Maurice himself. He arrived in time for their early tea, and Maurice having once mentioned what their hours were, he appeared perfectly ready to conform to them. His friendly regard for Maurice was indisputable, and his pleasant and attentive manners to his father were very conciliatory. To the young ladies he was at first quietly civil, and Hilary learned to appreciate more correctly the anxious _empressement_ and extreme attention once so naturally received from Charles Huyton, when she discovered that politeness alone did not dictate such devotion. Captain Hepburn had not been twenty-four hours in the house, before all the young ladies learned to regard him with composure as well as respect. He was generally rather silent, and much given to reading, in which occupation he spent nearly his whole morning, in appearance so profoundly engrossed by the page before him, as to be unconscious of all else. This quiet habit made it perfectly possible even on the first morning, for the others to occupy themselves as usual; Sybil and Gwyneth read and wrote, worked, drew, or practiced on the piano, as comfortably as if Captain Hepburn had been a hundred miles off, instead of being seated at a table only three yards from themselves; and Hilary went in and out, and attended to her father’s comforts, arranged her housekeeping, worked for Maurice, overlooked her sister’s exercises, or taught little Nest her arithmetic, exactly as if there had been no visitor present, or as if he had been there all her life. When she appeared with her bonnet on, and her youngest sister by her, and half-whispered to Sybil that she was going to take something to Mary Clay on the Common, Captain Hepburn roused himself from his studies, much to her surprise, and asked leave to go with her.