HOW HOFFLAND CAUGHT A TARTAR IN THE PERSON OF MISS LUCY'S LOVER.
The day was not to end as quietly as Mowbray dreamed, and we shall now
proceed to relate the incidents which followed this conversation.
Upon the smooth-shaven lawn, at various distances from each other,
were stretched parties of students, who either bent their brows over
volumes of Greek or Latin--or interchanged merry conversation, which
passed around like an elastic ball--or leaning their heads upon
overturned chairs, suffered to curl upward from their lazy lips white
wreaths of smoke which turned to floods of gold in the red sunset,
while the calm pipe-holders dreamed of that last minuet and the blue
eyes shrining it in memory, then of the reel through which she darted
with such joyous sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks--and so went on and
dreamed and sighed, then sighed and dreamed again. We are compelled to
add that the devotees of conversation and the dreamers outnumbered the
delvers into Greek and Latin, to a really deplorable degree.
It is so difficult to study out upon the grass which May has filled
with flowers--so very easy to lie there and idly talk or dream!
Through these groups Mowbray and his friend took their way, noticed
only with a careless glance by the studious portion when their shadows
fell upon the open volumes--not at all by the talkers--and scarcely
more by the dreamers, who lazily moved their heads as smokers only
can--with a silent protest, that is to say, at having their reveries
disturbed, and being compelled to take such enormous trouble and
exertion.
As Mowbray was about to ascend the steps beyond the statue, a young
man came down and greeted him familiarly.
Mowbray turned round and said:
"Mr. Denis, are you acquainted with Mr. Hoffland?"
And then the new-comer and the young student courteously saluted each
other, smiled politely, and shook hands.
"Stay till I come back, Charles," said Mowbray; "you and Denis can
chat under the tree yonder--and he will tell you whether Roseland can
accommodate a guest. He has staid with me more than once."
With which words Mowbray passed on.
Hoffland looked at his companion; and a single glance told him all he
wished to know. Jack Denis--for he was scarcely known by any other
name--was an open-hearted, honest, straight-forward young fellow of
twenty, with light-brown hair, frank eyes, and a cordial bearing which
at once put every body at their ease. Still there was a latent flash
in the eye which denoted an excitable temper--not seldom united, as
the reader must have observed, with such a character.
The young men strolled across to the tree which Mowbray had indicated,
and sat down on a wicker seat which was placed at its foot.
"Mr. Mowbray said you could tell me about Roseland," Hoffland said,
raising his dark eyes as was his habit beneath his low-drooping hat;
"I am sure it is a pretty place from his description--is it not?"
"Oh, beautiful!" said Denis warmly; "you should go and see it."
"I think I will."
"It is not far, and indeed is scarcely half an hour's ride from
town--there to the west."
"Yes; and Miss Lucy is very pretty, is she not?"
Denis colored slightly, and replied:
"I think so."
Hoffland with his quick eye discerned the slight color, and said
somewhat maliciously:
"You know her very well, do you not?"
"Why, tolerably," said Denis.
"I must make her acquaintance," continued Hoffland, "for I am sure
from Mowbray's description of her she is a gem. He invited me to come
this evening."
"You refused?"
"Yes."
"You should not have done so, sir: Mowbray is not prodigal of such
invitations."
Hoffland laughed.
"But I had a reason," he said mischievously.
"What, pray--if I may ask?"
"Oh, certainly, you may ask," Hoffland replied, smiling; "though it
may appear very vain to you--my reason."
"Hum!" said Denis, not knowing what to think of his new acquaintance,
whose quizzing manner, to use the technical word, did not please him.
"I told Mowbray very frankly, however, why I could not come this
evening," pursued Hoffland, with the air of one child teasing another;
"and I think he appreciated my reason. I was afraid on Miss Lucy's
account."
"Afraid!"
"Yes."
"On Lucy's account!"
"On _Miss_ Lucy's account," said Hoffland, emphasizing the "Miss."
"Oh, well, sir," said Denis, with a slight air of coldness; "I don't
deny that I was wrong in so speaking of a lady, but I don't see that
_you_ had the right to correct me."
"Why, Mr. Denis," said Hoffland smiling, "you take my little speeches
too seriously."
"No, sir; and if I showed some hastiness of temper, excuse me--I
believe it is my failing."
"Oh, really now! no apologies," said Hoffland laughing; "I am not
aware that you were out of temper--though that is not an unusual thing
with men. And now, having settled the question of the proper manner to
address or speak of Miss Lucy, I will go on and tell you--as you
seemed interested--why I did not feel myself at liberty to accept Mr.
Mowbray's invitation--or Ernest's: I call him Ernest, and he calls me
Charles."
"You seem to be well acquainted with him," said Denis.
"Oh, we are sworn friends!--of four days' standing."
Denis looked at his companion with great curiosity.
"Mowbray--the most reserved of men in friendship!" he muttered.
"Ah," replied Hoffland, whose quick ear caught these words; "but I am
not a common person, Mr. Denis. Remember that."
"Indeed?" said Denis, again betraying some coolness at his companion's
satirical manner: his manner alone was satirical--the words, as we may
perceive, were scarcely so.
"Yes," continued Hoffland, "and I am an exception to all general
rules--just as Crichton was."
"Crichton?"
"Yes; the admirable Crichton."
And having uttered this conceited sentence with a delightful little
toss of the head, Hoffland laughed.
Denis merely inclined his head coldly. He was becoming more and more
averse to this companion every moment.
"But we were speaking of Roseland, and my reasons for not accepting
Mowbray's invitation," pursued Hoffland, smiling; "the reason may
surprise you."
"Possibly, if you will tell me what it is," said Denis.
"Why, it is the simplest thing in the world. I come from the
mountains, you know."
"No, I did not know it before, sir," replied Denis.
"Well, such at least is the fact. Now, in the mountains, you know, the
girls are prettier, and the men handsomer."
"I know nothing of the sort," replied Denis coldly.
"Very well," Hoffland replied; "as I have just said, such is
nevertheless the fact."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Certainly. Now I am a fair specimen of the mountain men."
Denis looked at his companion with an expression of contempt which he
could not repress. Hoffland did not appear to observe it, but went on
in the same quizzing tone--for we can find no other word--which he had
preserved from the commencement of the interview.
"Feeling that Miss Lucy had probably not seen any one like myself," he
said, "I was naturally anxious that her brother should prepare her."
"Mr. Hoffland!"
"Sir?"
"Nothing, sir!"
And Denis choked down his rising anger. Hoffland did not observe it,
but continued as coolly as ever:
"You know how much curiosity the fair sex have," he said, "and my plan
was for Mowbray to describe me beforehand to his sister--as I know he
will."
"Pardon me, sir," said Denis coldly; "but I do not perceive your
drift. Doubtless it arises from my stupidity, but such is the fact, to
use your favorite expression."
"Why, it is much plainer than any pikestaff," Hoffland replied,
laughing; "listen, and I will explain. Mowbray will return home this
evening, and after tea he will say to his sister, 'I have a new friend
at college, Lucy--the handsomest, brightest, most amiable and
fascinating youth I ever saw.' You see he will call me a 'youth;'
possibly this may excite Miss Lucy's curiosity, and she will ask more
about me; and then Mowbray will of course expatiate on my various and
exalted merits, as every warm-hearted man does when he speaks of his
friends. Then Miss Lucy will imagine for herself a _beau ideal_ of
grace, elegance, beauty, intelligence and wit, far more than human.
She will fall in love with it--and then, when she is hopelessly
entangled in this passion for the creation of her fancy, I will make
my appearance. Do you not understand now, sir?"
Denis frowned and muttered a reply which it had been well for Hoffland
to have heard.
"I think it very plain," continued the young man; "with all those
graces of mind and person which a kind Providence has bestowed upon
me, I still feel that I could expect nothing but defeat, contending
with the ideal of a young girl's heart. Oh, sir, you can't imagine
how fanciful they are--believe me, women very seldom fall in love
with real men: it is the image of their dreams which they sigh over
and long to meet. This is all that they really love."
"Ah?" said Denis, in a freezing tone.
"Yes," Hoffland said; "and applying this reasoning to the present
subject, you cannot fail to understand my motives for refusing
Mowbray's kind invitation. Once in love with my shadow, Lucy will not
fall in love with me. To tell you the truth, I could not afford to
have her----"
"Mr. Hoffland!"
"Why, Mr. Denis--did any thing hurt you? Perhaps----"
"It was nothing, sir!" said Denis, with a flushed face.
"Well, to conclude," said Hoffland; "I could not accept Lucy's love
were she to offer it to me, and for this reason I have staid away. I
am myself fettered by another object; I could not marry her were she
to fall sick for love of me, and beg me on her knees to accept her
hand and heart--I really could not!"
Denis rose as if on springs.
"Mr. Hoffland!" he said, "you have basely insulted a young girl whom I
love--the sister of my friend--the best and purest girl in the world.
By Heaven, sir! you shall answer this! But for your delicate
appearance, sir, I would personally chastise you on the spot! But you
do not escape me, sir! Hold yourself in readiness to receive a
challenge from me to-morrow morning, sir!"
"Mr. Denis!" murmured Hoffland, suddenly turning pale and trembling
from head to foot.
"Refuse it, and I will publish you as a coward!" cried Denis, in a
towering rage; "a poltroon who has insulted a lady and refused to hold
himself responsible!"
With which words Denis tossed away; and passing through the crowd of
students, who, hearing angry voices, had risen to their feet, he
entered the college.
Hoffland stood trembling and totally unable to reply to the questions
addressed to him by the crowd. Suddenly he felt a hand upon his
shoulder; and raising his eyes he saw Mowbray.
He uttered a long sigh of relief; and drawing his hat over his eyes,
apparently to conceal his paleness and agitation, took his friend's
arm and dragged him away.
"What in the world is all this about?" asked Mowbray.
"Oh!" said Hoffland, trying to smile, but failing lamentably, "Mr.
Denis is going to kill me!"
And Mowbray felt that the hand upon his arm was trembling.