Part 45 (1/2)
”Why, what has _that_ got to do with it?”
”Have you not over and over again warned me, father, to beware of those gay young fellows who haven't got two sixpences to rub against each other, but have presumption enough to trifle with the affections of all the silly girls in the world. And are you sorry that I should have laid your lessons to heart?”
”Tut, child, don't talk nonsense. Whether he is rich or poor is a mere matter of moons.h.i.+ne. The question I have to settle just now is--Are you fond of him?”
”Well, no, father, I can't exactly say that I--”
”I knew it! I was _sure_ of it! The presumptuous puppy!” shouted the old man of war, jumping up, overturning a work-table with its innumerable contents, and striding towards the door.
”Stay, father!” said Manuela, in a tone that military discipline forbade him to disobey, and holding out both her hands with an air and grace that love forbade him to resist. ”I _don't_ admire him, and I'm _not_ fond of him,” continued the Inca princess, vehemently, as she grasped her parent's hands; ”these terms are ridiculously inadequate. I love him, father--I _adore_ him--I--”
She stopped abruptly, for a noise at the gla.s.s-door caused her to turn her eyes in that direction. It was Quashy, who stood there staring at them with all his eyes, and grinning at them with more than all his mouth--to say nothing of his ears!
”You black baboon!” shouted the colonel, when able to speak.
”Oh, nebber mind me, kurnel,” said Quashy, with a deprecatory air, ”'skuse me. I's on'y habin' a stroll in de gardin an' come here kite by haxidint. Go on wid your leetle game, an' nebber mind me. I's on'y a n.i.g.g.e.r.”
Colonel Marchbanks could not decide whether to laugh or storm. Manuela decided the question for him by inviting the negro to enter, which he did with humble urbanity.
”Shake hands with him, father. He's only a n.i.g.g.e.r, as he says, but he's one of the very best and bravest and most faithful n.i.g.g.e.rs that _I_ ever had to do with.”
”You's bery good, Miss--a'most as good as Sooz'n.”
”Oh, well, have it all your own way,” cried the colonel, becoming reckless, and shaking the negro's hand heartily; ”I surrender. Lawrence will dine with us this evening, Manuela, so you'd better see to having covers laid for three--or, perhaps, for four. It may be that Senhor Quashy will honour us with--”
”T'ankee, kurnel, you's bery kind, but I's got a prebious engagement.”
”A previous engagement, eh?” repeated the colonel, much tickled with the excuse.
”Yes, kurnel; got to 'tend upon Ma.s.sa Lawrence; but if you'll allow me to stan' behind his chair an' _wait_, I'll be much pleased to listen to all you says, an' put in a word now an' den if you chooses.”
And so, good reader, all things came about as the little princess of the Incas had arranged, long before, in her own self-willed little mind.