When Walwyn and Montgomery returned into the room, they perceived that the Chevalier D'Aubert had seated himself between Miss Moreton and Mary Cuthbert. Mary understood none of the half English, half French phrases, which were from time to time addressed to her cousin, accompanied with a sigh, or a look of languishment from the pensive orbs of the young Frenchman; but she saw that they were received by Miss Moreton with much satisfaction, who answered him so much in his own strain, and with an air so expressive of tender interest and feeling, that Mary felt embarrassed at being a disengaged spectator of the scene; especially as Mr. Copy still kept his eyes on her face, and had drawn his chair, the last time he resumed his whistle, rather nearer to her. She was ordered to sit in the seat she occupied, by Miss Moreton, and she had not courage to desert her post, though she felt very awkward in retaining it. In this dilemma, she recollected that she had her knitting in her pocket, and observing that the Signora had fallen asleep, and Monsieur was arranging a new crimson and silver cane string, she judged it to be no breach of politeness to take it out, which she accordingly did. ‘What a picture of Industry!’ said Miss Moreton, with something rather sarcastic in her exclamation. ‘A picture! where?’ said Copy, rubbing his eyes, and starting up from his seat in a moment. ‘There,’ said Miss More-ton, pointing towards Mary.