tion, her
cheeks were suddenly suffused with blushes. A young man had admired her
and _said_ so. Very likely that was the way with young men. _No_ doubt
they were bolder than young women; but somehow it was not so very
objectionable _in them_.

That short interview was a little era in Mary's young life. Walter had
fixed his eyes on her with delight, had held her hand some seconds, and
admired her to her face. She began to wonder a little, and flutter a
little, and to put off childhood.

Next day, punctual to the minute, Walter drove up to the door in an open
carriage drawn by two fast steppers. He found Mr. Bartley alone, and why?
because, at sight of Walter, Mary, for the first time in her life, had
flown upstairs to look at herself in the glass before facing the visitor,
and to smooth her hair, and retouch a bow, etc., underrating, as usual,
the power of beauty, and overrating nullities. Bartley took this
opportunity, and said to young Clifford:

"I owe you an apology, and a most earnest one. Can you ever forgive me?"

Walter changed color. Even this humble allusion to so great an insult was
wormwood to him. He bit his lip, and said:

"No man can do more than say he is sorry. I will try to forget it, sir."

"That is as much as I can expect," said Bartley, humbly. "But if you only
knew the art, the cunning, the apparent evidence, with which that villain
Monckton deluded me--"

"That I can believe."

"And permit me one observation before we drop this unhappy subject
forever. If you had done me the honor to come to me as Walter Clifford,
why, then, strong and misleading as the evidence was, I should have said,
'Appearances are deceitful, but no Clifford was ever disloyal.'"

This artful speech conquered Walter Clifford. He blushed, and bowed a
little haughtily at the compliment to the Cliffords. But his sense of
justice was aroused.

"You are right," said he. "I must try and see both sides. If a man
sails under false colors, he mustn't howl if he is mistaken for a
pirate. Let us dismiss the subject forever. I am Walter Clifford
now--at your service."

At that moment Mary Bartley came in, beaming with youth and beauty, and
illumined the room. The cousins shook hands, and Walter's eyes glowed
with admiration.

After a few words of greeting he handed Mary into the drag. Her father
followed, and he was about to drive off, when Mary cried out, "Oh, I
forgot my skirt, if I am to ride."

The skirt was brought d