In one of these walks, it was our chance to meet Mr. Weston. This was what I had long desired; but now, for a moment, I wished either he or I were away; I felt my heart throb so violently that I dreaded lest some outward signs of emotion should appear; but I think he hardly glanced at me, and I was soon calm enough. After a brief salutation to both, he asked Matilda if she had lately heard from her sister.
"Yes," replied she. "She was at Paris when she wrote, and very well and very happy."
She spoke the last word emphatically, and with a glance impertinently sly. He did not seem to notice it, but replied, with equal emphasis, and very seriously,
"I hope she will continue to be so."
"Do you think it likely?" I ventured to inquire, for Matilda had started off in pursuit of her dog that was chasing a leveret.
"I cannot tell," replied he. "Sir Thomas may be a better man than I may suppose, but, from all I have heard and seen, it seems a pity that one so young, and gay, and. . .and interesting, to express many things by one. . .whose greatest, if not her only fault, appears
