A Canadian Heroine, Volume 1 | Page 6

effeminacy, the most spoiled beauty might
have been proud of his homage. At present, however, he stood lazily
enough, smiling a little at his hostess' vivacity, exchanging a word or
two with her husband, or following the direction of her eyes along the
road. At last a cloud of dust appeared. "Here they are, I believe," cried
Mrs. Bellairs. "Ah! Maurice, I ought to have sent you, two girls never
are to be trusted." Mr. Percy turned round. He was conscious of a little
amused curiosity about this Backwoods beauty, and, at hearing this
second appeal to Maurice where she was concerned, it occurred to him
to look more attentively than he had done before at the person appealed
to. They were standing opposite to each other, and they had three
attributes in common. Both were tall, both young, and both handsome.
Percy was twenty-eight, and looked more than his age. Maurice was
twenty-four, and looked less. Percy was fair--his features were
admirable--his expression and manner had actually no other fault than
that of being too still and languid. Maurice had brown hair, now a little

tossed and disordered (for he had been busy all morning on board the
boat), a pair of brown eyes of singular beauty, clear and true, and a
tolerable set of features, which, like his manner, varied considerably,
according to the humour he happened to be in. Percy was a man of the
world, understood and respected "les convenances," and never shocked
anybody. Maurice knew nothing about the world, and having no more
refined rule of conduct than the simple one of right and wrong, which is,
perhaps, too lofty for every-day use, he occasionally blundered in his
behaviour to people he did not like. At present, indeed, for some reason,
by no means clear to himself, he returned the Englishman's glance in
anything but a friendly manner.
Bob, the grey pony, trotted down the wharf with his load. Half-a-dozen
idlers rushed forwards to help the two girls out of the carriage, and into
the boat. Bob marched off in charge of a groom; the paddles began to
turn, the flags waved, the band struck up, and the boat moved quickly
away down, the stream.
Mrs. Bellairs, relieved from her watch, had sunk into a chair placed on
deck, and sent her husband to bring the truants. Maurice remained
beside her, and when the rest of the group had a little separated, he bent
down and said to her,
"Dear Mrs. Bellairs, don't scold Lucia if the delay is her fault. She had
some objection to leaving her mother to-day, and even wanted me to
excuse her to you."
"She is a spoiled child," was the answer. "But, however, I will forgive
her this once for your sake."
Mr. Percy certainly had not listened, but as certainly he had heard this
short dialogue. He was rather bored; he did not find Cacouna very
amusing, and had not yet found even that last resource of idle men--a
woman to flirt with. He was in the very mood to be tempted by
anything that promised the slightest distraction, and there was
undeniably something irritating in the idea of there being in the
neighbourhood one sole and unapproachable beauty, and of that one
being given up by common consent to a boy, a mere Canadian boor! Of

course he could not understand that no one else could have seen this
matter in the light he did; that everybody, or nearly everybody, thought
of Maurice and Lucia as near neighbours and old playfellows, and no
more. So he felt a very slight stir of indignation, which, in the dearth of
other sensations, was not disagreeable. But then probably the girl was
quite over-praised; no beauty at all, in fact. People in these outlandish
places did not appreciate anything beyond prettiness. "Here she
comes."
He almost said the words aloud as Mr. Bellairs brought her forward,
but instantly felt disgusted with himself, and stepped back, almost
determined not to look at her at all; yet, after all, he was positively
curious, and then he must look at her by-and-by. Too late now,--she
was talking to Maurice,--always Maurice,--and had her back
completely turned; there was nothing visible but the outline of a tall
slight figure. "Not ungraceful, certainly; but Mrs. Bellairs is graceful,
and Miss Latour not bad; it must be walking so much. What a gorilla
that fellow looks! The women here are decidedly better than the men."
His soliloquy stopped short. Lucia had turned to look at something, and
their eyes met. A most lovely crimson flush rushed to her cheeks, and
gave her face the only beauty it generally wanted; she instantly turned
away again, but Mr. Percy's meditations remained suspended. A few
minutes afterwards he walked away to the