Part 83 (1/2)
”Ruperta Ba.s.sett.”
”Richard Ba.s.sett's daughter! impossible. That young lady looks seventeen or eighteen years of age.”
”Yes, but it is Ruperta. There's n.o.body like her. Papa!”
”Well?”
”I suppose I may speak to her now.”
”What for?”
”She is so beautiful.”
”That she really is. And therefore I advise you to have nothing to say to her. You are not children now, you know. Were you to renew that intimacy, you might be tempted to fall in love with her. I don't say you would be so mad, for you are a sensible boy; but still, after that little business in the wood--”
”But suppose I did fall in love with her?”
”Then that would be a great misfortune. Don't you know that her father is my enemy? If you were to make any advances to that young lady, he would seize the opportunity to affront you, and me through you.”
This silenced Compton, for he was an obedient youth.
But in the evening he got to his mother and coaxed her to take his part.
Now Lady Ba.s.sett felt the truth of all her husband had said; but she had a positive wish the young people should be on friendly terms, at all events; she wanted the family feud to die with the generation it had afflicted. She promised, therefore, to speak to Sir Charles; and so great was her influence that she actually obtained terms for Compton: he might speak to Miss Ba.s.sett, if he would realize the whole situation, and be very discreet, and not revive that absurd familiarity into which, their childhood had been betrayed.
She communicated this to him, and warned him at the same time that even this concession had been granted somewhat reluctantly, and in consideration of his invariable good conduct; it would be immediately withdrawn upon the slightest indiscretion.
”Oh, I will be discretion itself,” said Compton; but the warmth with which he kissed his mother gave her some doubts. However, she was prepared to risk something. She had her own views in this matter.
When he had got this limited permission, Master Compton was not much nearer the mark; for he was not to call on the young lady, and she did not often walk in the village.
But he often thought of her, her loving, sprightly ways seven years ago, and the blaze of beauty with which she had returned.
At last, one Sunday afternoon, she came to church alone. When the congregation dispersed, he followed her, and came up with her, but his heart beat violently.
”Miss Ba.s.sett!” said he, timidly.
She stopped, and turned her eyes on him; he blushed up to the temples.
She blushed too, but not quite so much.
”I am afraid you don't remember me,” said the boy, sadly.
”Yes, I do, sir,” said Ruperta, shyly.
”How you are grown!”
”Yes, sir.”
”You are taller than I am, and more beautiful than ever.”