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 aukwardness 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.