Part 24 (2/2)
said I; ”I have kept my companion, the gentleman who was so unfortunate as to overturn the candelabrum, waiting an unconscionable time already; he is very penitent for his offence; may I venture to relieve his mind by telling him that you forgive him?”
”Pray do so,” was the reply; ”I never bear malice; besides, it was entirely an accident, you know. How thoroughly wretched he seemed when he found what he had done; frightened as I was, I could scarcely help laughing when I caught a glimpse of his face, he looked so delightfully miserable,” added she, with a merry laugh. After a moment's pause she continued--”I'm afraid Mr. Vernor will think I am lost, if he should happen to inquire after me, and I'm not forthcoming”.
”Surely,” said I, ”he can never be so unreasonable as to blame you for such a trifle as remaining five minutes too long. Does he expect you to be a nun because he lives in a priory?”
”Almost, I really think,” was the reply; ”and now, good-bye, Mr.
Fairlegh,” she continued--”I shall feel -154--happier since I have been able to explain to you that I am not quite a monster of ingrat.i.tude.”
”If that is the case, I am bound to rejoice in it also,” answered I, ”though I would fain convince you that the explanation was not required.”
Her only reply to this was an incredulous shake of the head; and, once more wis.h.i.+ng me good-morning, she tripped along the path; and, when I turned to look again, her graceful figure had disappeared among the trees.
With a flushed brow and beating heart (gentle reader, I was barely twenty) I hastened to rejoin my companion, who, as might be expected, was not in the most amiable humour imaginable, having had to restrain the impatience of two fiery horses for a s.p.a.ce of time nearly approaching a quarter of an hour.
”Really, Lawless,” I began, ”I am quite ashamed.” ”Oh, you are, are you?” was the rejoinder. ”I should rather think you ought to be, too.
But it's always the way with you fellows who pretend to be steady and moral, and all that sort of thing: when you do find a chance of getting into mischief, you're worse a great deal than a man like myself, for instance, who, without being bothered with any particular principles of any kind, has what I call a general sense of fitness and propriety, and does his dissipation sensibly and correctly. But to go tearing off like a lunatic after the first petticoat you see fluttering among the bushes in a gentleman's park, and leaving your friend to hold in two thorough-bred peppery devils, that are enough to pull a man's arms off, for above a quarter of an hour, it's too bad a great deal. Why, just before you came, I fully expected when that mare was plunging about on her hind legs----”
”How lovely she looked!” interrupted I, thinking aloud.
”You thought so, did you?” rejoined Lawless; ”I wish you'd just had to hold her; her mouth's as hard----”
”Her mouth is perfect,” replied I emphatically; ”quite perfect.”
”Well, that's cool,” muttered Lawless; ”he'll put me in a pa.s.sion directly;--pray, sir, may I ask how on earth you come to know anything about her mouth?”
”How do I know anything about her mouth?” exclaimed I. ”Did I not watch with delight its ever-varying expression?--mark each movement of those beautiful lips, and drink in every syllable that fell from them?--not observe her mouth! Think you, when we have been conversing together for the last quarter of an hour, that I could fail to do so?”
-155--”Oh he's gone stark staring mad!” exclaimed Lawless; ”strait-waistcoats, Bedlam, and all that sort o' thing, you know;--conversing with my bay mare for the last quarter of an hour, and drinking in every syllable that fell from her beautiful lips--oh, he's raving!”
”What do you mean?” said I, at length awaking to some consciousness of sublunary affairs--”Your mare!--who ever thought of your mare? it's Miss Saville I'm talking about.”
”Miss Saville!” repeated Lawless, giving vent to a long whistle, expressive of incredulity; ”why, you don't mean to say you've been talking to Miss Saville all this time, do you?”
”To be sure I have,” replied I; ”and a very interesting and agreeable conversation it was too.”
”Well,” exclaimed Lawless, after a short pause; ”all the luck in this matter seem's to fall to your share; so the sooner I get out of it the better. It won't break my heart, that's one comfort;--if the young woman has the bad taste to prefer you to me, why, it can't be helped, you know;--but what did she say for herself, eh?”
”She sent you her forgiveness for one thing,” replied I; and I then proceeded to relate such particulars of the interview as I considered expedient; which recital, and our remarks thereupon, furnished conversation during the remainder of our drive.
CHAPTER XIX -- TURNING THE TABLES
”'You should also make no noise in the streets.'
”'You may stay him.'
”'Nay, by're lady, that I think he cannot.'
”'Five s.h.i.+llings to one on't with any man that knows the statutes, he may stay him. His wits are not so blunt as, G.o.d help, I would desire they were. It is an offence to stay a man _against his will_. Dost thou not suspect my place? dost thou not suspect my years? O that he were here to write me down an a.s.s! but, masters, remember that I am an a.s.s: though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an a.s.s.”
--_Much Ado About Nothing_.
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