When Allan returned home, he found an invitation had been left for
him, in his absence, to spend that evening with a young friend, who
had just quitted a public school in London, and was come to pass one
night in his father's house at Widford, previous to his departure the
next morning for Edinburgh University.
It was Allan's bosom friend--they had not met for some months--and it
was probable a much longer time must intervene before they should
meet again.
Yet Allan could not help looking a little blank when he first heard
of the invitation. This was to have been an important evening. But
Elinor soon relieved her brother by expressing her readiness to go
alone to the cottage.
"I will not lose the pleasure I promised myself, whatever you may
determine upon, Allan; I will go by myself rather than be
disappointed."
"Will you, will you, Elinor?"
Elinor promised to go--and I believe, Allan, on a second thought, was
not very sorry to be spared the awkwardness of introducing two
persons to each other, both so dear to him, but either of whom might
happen not much to fancy the other.
At times, indeed, he was confident that Elinor _must_ love Rosamund,
and Rosamund _must_ love Elinor; but there were also times in which
he felt misgivings--it was an event he could scarce hope for very
joy!
Allan's _real presence_ that evening was more at the cottage than at
the house, where his _bodily semblance_ was visiting--his friend
could not help complaining of a certain absence of mind, a _coldness_
he called it.
It might have been expected, and in the course of things predicted,
that Allan would have asked his friend some questions of what had
happened since their last meeting, what his feelings were on leaving
school, the probable time when they should meet again, and a, hundred
natural questions which friendship is most lavish of at such times;
but nothing of all this ever occurred to Allan--they did not even
settle the method of their future correspondence.
The consequence was, as might have been expected, Allan's friend
thought him much altered, and, after his departure, sat down to
compose a doleful sonnet about a "faithless friend."--I do not find
that he ever finished it--indignation, or a dearth of rhymes, causing
him to break off in the middle.
* * * * *