The bad weather had had as ill an effect on Henry as on Ann.  He was frequently very thoughtful, or rather melancholy; this melancholy would of itself have attracted Mary’s notice, if she had not found his conversation so infinitely superior to the rest of the group.  When she conversed with him, all the faculties of her soul unfolded themselves; genius animated her expressive countenance and the most graceful, unaffected gestures gave energy to her discourse.

They frequently discussed very important subjects, while the rest were singing or playing cards, nor were they observed for doing so, as Henry, whom they all were pleased with, in the way of gallantry shewed them all more attention than her.  Besides, as there was nothing alluring in her dress or manner, they never dreamt of her being preferred to them.

Henry was a man of learning; he had also studied mankind, and knew many of the intricacies of the human heart, from having felt the infirmities of his own.  His taste was just, as it had a standard—­Nature, which he observed with a critical eye.  Mary could not help thinking that in his company her mind expanded, as he always went below the surface.  She increased her stock of ideas, and her taste was improved.

He was also a pious man; his rational religious sentiments received warmth from his sensibility; and, except on very particular occasions, kept it in proper bounds; these sentiments had likewise formed his temper; he was gentle, and easily to be intreated.  The ridiculous ceremonies they were every day witness to, led them into what are termed grave subjects, and made him explain his opinions, which, at other times, he was neither ashamed of, nor unnecessarily brought forward to notice.

CHAP.  XIII.

When the weather began to clear up, Mary sometimes rode out alone, purposely to view the ruins that still remained of the earthquake:  or she would ride to the banks of the Tagus, to feast her eyes with the sight of that magnificent river.  At other times she would visit the churches, as she was particularly fond of seeing historical paintings.

One of these visits gave rise to the subject, and the whole party descanted on it; but as the ladies could not handle it well, they soon adverted to portraits; and talked of the attitudes and characters in which they should wish to be drawn.  Mary did not fix on one—­when Henry, with more apparent warmth than usual, said, “I would give the world for your picture, with the expression I have seen in your face, when you have been supporting your friend.”

This delicate compliment did not gratify her vanity, but it reached her heart.  She then recollected that she had once sat for her picture—­for whom was it designed?  For a boy!  Her cheeks flushed with indignation, so strongly did she feel an emotion of contempt at having been thrown away—­given in with an estate.