"Things that I know not of, belike to thee are dear."
There was the shadow of such a thought on the blushing face of Virginia
Seyton as she sat in a great chair in the old drawing-room at
Elderthwaite and listened to the wooing of Alvar Lester. She held a
bouquet on her lap, and he stood, bending forward, and addressing: her
in language that was checked by no embarrassment, and with a simplicity
of purpose which had sought no disguise. Alvar had reflected on his
father's hints over many a cigarette, he had thought to himself that he
was resolved to be an Englishman, that Miss Seyton was charming and
attractive beyond all other ladies, it was well that he should marry,
and he would be faithful, courteous, and kind.
Assuredly he was prepared to love her, she made England pleasant to him,
and he had no strong ties to the turbulent life of Spain, from which his
peculiar circumstances and his natural indolence had alike held him
aloof. He had no thought of giving less than was Virginia's due, it was
a simple matter to him enough, and he had come away that morning, with
no false shame as to his intentions, with a flower in his coat and
flowers in his hand, and had demanded Miss Seyton's permission to see
her niece, heedless how far both households might guess at the matter in
hand.
With his dark, manly grace, and tender accents, he was the picture of a
lover, as she, with her creamy skin rose-tinted, and her fervent eyes
cast down, seemed the very type of a maiden wooed, and by a favoured
suitor. But if the hearts of this graceful and well-matched pair beat
to the same time, the notes for each had very different force, and the
experiences and the requirements of each had been, and must be, utterly
unlike those of the other.