It was evening of the same eventful day in the history of our hero, that
a merry little circle of young girls were assembled at Kate Kennedy’s;
and to the amused group Miss Belden related the adventures of the
morning, giving to the whole scene an effect so truly ludicrous, as
elicited many a merry peal of laughter from her joyous listeners. Even
Emma Willis, though made to figure so largely in the story, could not
resist a smile at the ridiculous light in which she was shown up by her
provokingly mischievous cousin.
“And to think, after all,” cried Kate, “that this sudden conquest has
been achieved by a simple country girl—our own blushing Emma here, who
never before even lost sight of her lambs and chickens. Why, from your
grandiloquent description, Margaret, I should not wonder if he should
prove some foreign count.”
“Or a play-actor, from his tragic air,” said another.
“Or a poet,” cried a third.
“Or a fugitive from the Insane Hospital,” added a fourth.
“Or a writer of romances, stealing his characters from real life. I’ll
warrant his name to be Adolphus Gustavus Augustus Fitz—something or
other—”
“O, no,” interrupted Miss Belden, “his name is a thousand times prettier
than any of your _Sts._ and _Fitz._—it is Auburn—Henry C. Auburn.”
“_Henry C. Auburn!_” screamed Kate. “Say that again, Margaret! Henry C.
Auburn!—delightful!” and bursting into a fit of uncontrollable
laughter, the little gypsy clapped her hands, and danced about the room
apparently in an ecstasy of delight. The next moment she vanished from
the room, and hastily dispatched the following note to the lodgings of
Auburn.
“Dear Cousin Harry—
“One so imperturbable to all the blandishments of beauty; one
who has sworn fealty to pencil and pallet, and jests at all the
powers of Cupid, can surely fear no danger in coming hither this
evening, even though to meet the charming friend of whom I told
you this morning. I therefore once more entreat, nay, I command
your presence, though at the eleventh hour. I will only hint
that if you come you may not leave town to-morrow. In haste,
“Kate.”
Auburn received the note, but, ingrate that he was to his pretty cousin,
and feeling in no amiable mood of mind, he returned this brief reply.
“Dear Kate—
“I cannot come—I told you so. Don’t annoy me any more about
your ‘_charming friend_.’ I hate all women but you! Kate, I go
to-morrow.
“Harry.”
He remained that night until a late hour writing and arranging his
things for his departure. Then bidding the servant call him at an early
hour in the morning, he threw himself upon the bed—but not to sleep.
What the fair vision continually flitting through his brain and
repelling the powers of the drowsy god, needs not be told.