HOFFLAND EXERTS HIMSELF TO AMUSE THE COMPANY.
Lucy was a young girl of nineteen or twenty, with the brightest face,
the most sparkling eyes, and the merriest voice which ever adorned
woman entering her prime. Her laughter was contagious, and the
listener must perforce laugh in unison. Her face drove away gloom, as
the sun does; her smile was pure merriment, routing all cares; and
Mowbray's sad countenance became again serene, his lips smiled.
Lucy bowed demurely to the boy, who held out his hand laughing.
"Oh! Ernest and myself are sworn friends," he said; "and the fact is,
Miss Lucy, I had serious doubts whether I should not kiss you--I love
you so much--for Ernest's sake!"
And Hoffland pursed up his lips, prepared for all things.
Lucy was so completely overcome by laughter at this extraordinary
speech, that for a moment she remained perfectly silent, shaking with
merriment.
Hoffland conceived the design to take advantage of this astonishment,
and modestly "held up his mouth," as children say. The consequence was
that Miss Lucy extricated her hand from his grasp, and drew back with
some hauteur; whereupon Hoffland assumed an expression of such
mortification and childlike dissatisfaction, that Mowbray, who had
witnessed this strange scene, could not suppress a smile.
"I might as well tell you frankly at once, Lucy," he said, "that
Charles is the oddest person, and I think the most perfect boy, at
times, I have ever known."
"I a boy!" cried Hoffland; "I am no such thing!--am I, Lucy--_Miss_
Lucy, I mean, of course? I am not so young as all that, and I see
nothing so strange in wanting a kiss. But I won't misbehave any more;
come now, see!"
And drawing himself up with a delightful expression of dignified
courtesy, Hoffland said, solemnly offering his arm to Lucy:
"Shall I have the honor, Miss Mowbray, of escorting you into the
garden for the purpose of gathering some roses to deck your queenly
brow?"
Lucy would have refused; but overcome with laughter, and unable to
resist the ludicrous solemnity of Hoffland's voice and manner, she
placed her finger on his arm, and they walked into the garden.
Roseland was a delightful little cottage, full of flowers, and
redolent of spring. It fronted south, and seemed to be the favorite of
the sun, which shone through its vine-embowered windows and lit up its
drooping eaves, as it nowhere else did.
A little passage led quite through the house, and by this passage
Hoffland and his fair companion entered the garden.
Mowbray sat down and examined some papers which he took from his
pocket; then trained a flowering vine from the window-sill to a nail
in the wall without, for he was very fond of flowers; then, bethinking
himself that Hoffland was his guest, turned to go into the garden.
As he did so, he caught sight of a horseman approaching the cottage;
and soon this horseman drew near enough to be recognised. It was Mr.
John Denis, whose admiration for Miss Lucy Mowbray our readers have
possibly divined from former pages of this true history.
Mr. Denis dismounted and entered the grounds of the cottage, sending
before him a friendly smile. Denis was one of those honest, worthy
fellows, who are as single-minded as children, and in whose eyes all
men and things are just what they seem: hypocrisy he could never
understand, and it was almost as difficult for the worthy young man to
comprehend irony. We have seen an exemplification of this in his
affair with Hoffland; and if our narrative permitted it, we might, by
following him through his after life, find many more instances of the
same singleness of heart and understanding.
Denis was very tastefully dressed, and his face was, as we have said,
full of smiles. He held out his hand to Mowbray with honest warmth,
and they entered the cottage.
The reader may imagine that Denis inquired as to the whereabouts of
Miss Lucy--his wandering glances not having fallen upon that young
lady. Not at all. For did ever lover introduce the subject of his
lady-love? When we are young, and in love, do we go to visit Dulcinea
or her brother Tom? Is not that agreeable young gentleman the sole
attraction which draws us; do we not ride a dozen miles for his sake,
and has Dulcinea any thing to do with the rapturous delight we
experience in dreaming of the month we shall spend with Tom in August?
Of course not; and Denis did not allude in the remotest manner to
Lucy. On the contrary, he became the actor which love makes of the
truest men, and said, with careless ease:
"A lovely evening for a ride."
"Yes," said Mowbray, driving away his sad thoughts; "why didn't you
come with us, Jack?"
"With you?"
"Myself and Hoffland."
"Hoffland!"
"Yes; what surprises you?"
"Is Hoffland here?"
Mowbray nodded.
Denis looked round; and then his puzzled glance returned to the face
of his friend.
"I do not see him," he said.
"He went into the garden just now," explained Mowbray.
Denis would have given thousands to be able to say, "Where is Lucy?"
It was utterly impossible, however. Instead of doing so, he asked:
"You came in a buggy?"
"Yes," said Mowbray.
"Is Hoffland agreeable--I mean a pleasant fellow?"
"I think so: rather given to jesting--and I suppose this was the
origin of your unhappy difficulty. Most quarrels spring from jests."
"True. I believe he was jesting; in fact I know it," said poor Jack
Denis, wiping his brow and trying to plunge his glance into the depths
of the garden, where Lucy and Hoffland were no doubt walking. "Still,
Ernest, I could not have acted differently; and you would be the first
person to agree with me, were I to tell you the subject of his jests."
And Denis frowned.
"What was it?" said Mowbray. "Hoffland refused point-blank to tell me,
and I am perfectly ignorant of the whole affair."
Denis hesitated. Was it fair and honest to prejudice Mowbray against
the boy? but on the contrary, was not the whole affair now explained
as a simple jest, and would there be harm in telling what the young
student had said to provoke him? The young man hesitated, and said:
"I don't know--it was a mere jest; there is no use in opening the
subject again----"
"Ah, Jack!" said Mowbray, "I see that I am to live and die in
ignorance, for I repeat that Hoffland would not tell me. With all the
carelessness of a child, he seems to possess the reserve of a
politician or a woman."
"A strange character, is he not?" said Denis.
"Yes; and yet he has won upon me powerfully."
"Your acquaintance is very short," said poor Denis, his heart sinking
at the thought of having so handsome and graceful a rival as the boy.
"Very," returned Mowbray; "but he positively took me by storm."
"And you like him?"
"To be sincere--exceedingly."
"Why?" muttered Denis.
"Really, I can scarcely say," replied his friend; "but he is a mere
boy; seems to be wholly without friends; and he has virtually yielded
to me the guidance of all his affairs. This may seem an absurd reason
for liking Hoffland; but that is just my weak side, Jack. When any one
comes to me and says, 'I am weak and inexperienced, you are in a
position to aid and assist me; be my friend;' how can I refuse?"
"And Hoffland----"
"Has done so? Yes."
"Humph!"
"Besides this, he is a mere boy; and to speak frankly, is so
affectionate and winning in his demeanor toward me, that I really have
not the courage to repel his advances. Strange young man! at times I
know not what to think of him. He is alternately a child, a woman, and
a matured man in character; but most often a child."
"Indeed?" said Denis, whose heart sunk at every additional word
uttered by Mowbray; "how then did he display such willingness to
fight--and I will add, such careless bravado?"
"Because fighting was a mere word to him," said Mowbray; "I believe
that he no more realized the fact that you would direct the muzzle of
a pistol toward his breast, than that you would stab or poison him."
Denis wiped his brow.
"I didn't want to fight," he said; "but I was obliged to do
something."
"Was the provocation gross?"
"Pardon my question. I did not mean to return to the subject, inasmuch
as some reason for withholding the particulars of the interview seems
to exist in your mind."
Denis hesitated and muttered something to himself; then, raising his
head suddenly, he added with some bitterness:
"Perhaps you may have your curiosity satisfied from another source,
Ernest. I see Mr. Hoffland approaching the house with Miss Lucy--from
the garden, there. No doubt he will tell you."
In fact, Miss Lucy and Hoffland were sauntering in from the garden in
high glee. Lucy from time to time burst into loud and merry laughter,
clapping her hands, and expressing great delight at something which
Hoffland was communicating; and Hoffland was bending down familiarly
and whispering in her ear.
No sooner, however, had the promenaders caught sight of Mowbray and
Denis looking at them, than their manner suddenly changed. Hoffland
drew back, and raising his head with great dignity, solemnly offered
his arm to the young girl; and Lucy, choking down her merriment and
puckering up her lips to hide her laughter, placed her little finger
on the sleeve of her cavalier. And so they approached the inmates of
the cottage, with quiet and graceful dignity, like noble lord and
lady; and entering, bowed ceremoniously, and sat down with badly
smothered laughter.
"Really," said Mowbray smiling, "you will permit me to say, Charles,
that you have a rare genius for making acquaintance suddenly: Lucy and
yourself seem to be excellent friends already."
And he looked kindly at the boy, who smiled.
"Friends?" said Hoffland; "we are cousins!"
"Cousins? Indeed!"
"Certainly, my dear fellow," said Hoffland, with a delightful ease and
_bonhomie_. "I have discovered that my great-grandmother married the
cousin of an uncle of cousin Lucy's great-grandfather's wife's aunt;
and moreover, that this aunt was the niece of my great-uncle's first
wife's husband. That makes it perfectly plain--don't it, Mr. Denis?
Take care how you differ with me: cousin Lucy understands it
perfectly, and she has a very clear head."
"Thank you, sir," said Lucy, laughing; "a great compliment."
"Not at all," said Hoffland; "some women have a great deal of
sense--or at least a good deal."
"Indeed, sir!"
"Yes; but it is not their failing generally. I have taken up that
impression of you, cousin Lucy, from our general conversation; not
from your ability to comprehend so simple a genealogical table as that
of our relationship."
"Upon my word, _I_ don't understand it," said Mowbray, smiling.
"Is it possible, Ernest? Listen again, then. My
great-grandfather--recollect him, now--married the uncle of a
cousin--observe, the uncle of a cousin----"
"What! your great-grandfather married the _uncle_ of somebody's
cousin? Is it possible?"
"Now you are laughing at me," said Hoffland, pouting; "what if I did
get it a little wrong? I meant that my great-grandmother married the
uncle of a cousin of cousin Lucy's wife's great-grandfather's
aunt--who----"
"Lucy's wife is then involved, is she, Charles?" asked Mowbray; "but
go on."
"No, I won't!" said Hoffland; "you are just trying to confuse and
embarrass me. I will not tell you any more: but cousin Lucy
understands; don't you, Miss Lucy?"
"Quite enough to understand that we occupy a closer relationship than
we seem to," said Lucy, threatening to burst into laughter.
Hoffland gave her a warning glance; and then assuming a polite and
graceful smile, asked:
"Pray, what were you and Mr. Denis talking of, my dear Ernest? Come,
tell a fellow!"
Lucy turned away and covered her face, which was crimson with
laughter.
"We were speaking of the quarrel which we were unfortunate enough to
have, sir," said poor Denis coldly; "and I referred Mr. Mowbray to you
for an account of it."
"To me?" said Hoffland smiling; "why not tell him yourself?"
"I did not fancy it, sir."
"Why, in the world?"
"Come! come!" said Mowbray smiling, and wishing to nip the new
altercation in the bud; "don't let us talk any more about it. It is
all ended now, and I don't care to know----"
"Why, there's nothing to conceal," said Hoffland, laughing.
Denis colored.
"I'll tell you in an instant," laughed the boy.
Lucy turned toward him; and Denis looked out of the window.
"We were talking of women first," continued Hoffland; "a subject,
cousin Lucy, which we men discuss much oftener than you ladies
imagine----"
"Indeed!" said Lucy, nearly choking with laughter.
"Yes," continued the boy; "and after agreeing that Miss Theorem the
mathematician was charming; Miss Quartz the geologist lovely; that
Miss Affectation was very _piquante_, and Mrs. Youngwidow exceedingly
fine-looking in her mourning; after having amicably interchanged our
ideas on these topics, we came to discuss the celebrated lunar
theory."
"What is that?" asked Lucy.
"Simply the question, what the moon is made of."
"Indeed?"
"Certainly. Mr. Denis took the common and erroneous view familiar to
scientific men; I, on the contrary, supported the green-cheese view of
the question; and this was the real cause of our quarrel. I am sure
Mr. Denis and myself are the most excellent friends now," said
Hoffland, turning with a smile towards Denis; "and we will never
quarrel any more."
A pause of some moments followed this ridiculous explanation; and this
pause was first broken by Miss Lucy, who burst into the most
unladylike laughter, and indeed shook from head to foot in the excess
of her mirth. Mowbray looked with an amazed and puzzled air at
Hoffland, and Denis did not know what to say or how to look.
Lucy, after laughing uninterruptedly for nearly five minutes, suddenly
remembered the indecorum of this strange exhibition; so, drying her
eyes, and assuming a demure and business-like air, she took a small
basket of keys, and apologizing for her departure, went to attend to
supper. Before leaving the room, however, she gladdened honest Jack
Denis's heart with a sweet smile, and this smile was so perfect a balm
to the wounded feelings of the worthy fellow, that his discontent and
ill-humor disappeared completely, and he was almost ready to give his
hand to his rival, Hoffland. The same arrow had mortally wounded
Jacques and Denis.