“What you feel at this moment, I suppose?” said Lady Lowborough, with a malicious smile, fixing her eyes upon her cousin’s distressed countenance.
The latter offered no reply, but averted her face and brushed away a tear. At that moment the door opened and admitted Mr. Hargrave, just a little flushed, his dark eyes sparkling with unwonted vivacity.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re come, Walter?” cried his sister. “But I wish you could have got Ralph to come too.”
“Utterly impossible, dear Milicent,” replied he, gaily. “I had much ado to get away myself. Ralph attempted to keep me by violence; Huntingdon threatened me with the eternal loss of his friendship; and Grimsby, worse than all, endeavoured to make me ashamed of my virtue, by such galling sarcasms and innuendoes as he knew would wound me the most. So you see, ladies, you ought to make me welcome when I have braved and suffered so much for the favour of your sweet society.” He smilingly turned to me and bowed as he finished the sentence.
“Isn’t he handsome now, Helen!” whispered Milicent, her sisterly pride overcoming, for the moment, all other considerations.
“He would be,” I returned, “if that brilliance of eye, and lip, and cheek were natural to him; but look again, a few hours hence.”
Here the gentleman took a seat near me at the table, and petitioned for a cup of coffee.
“I consider this an apt illustration of heaven taken by storm,” said he, as I handed one to him. “I am in paradise, now; but I have fought my way through flood and fire to win it. Ralph Hattersley’s last resource was to set his back against the door, and swear I should find no passage but through his body (a pretty substantial one too). Happily, however, that was not the only door, and I effected my escape by the side entrance through the butler’s pantry, to the infinite amazement of Benson, who was cleaning the plate.”
Mr. Hargrave laughed, and so did his cousin; but his sister and I remained silent and grave.
“Pardon my levity, Mrs. Huntingdon,” murmured he, more seriously, as he raised his eyes to my face. “You are not used to these things: you suffer them to affect your delicate mind too sensibly. But I thought of you in the midst of those lawless roysterers; and I endeavoured to persuade Mr. Huntingdon to think of you too; but to no purpose: I fear he is fully determined to enjoy himself this night; and it will be no use keeping the coffee waiting for him or his companions; it will be much if they join us at tea. Meantime, I earnestly wish I could banish the thoughts of them from your mind—and my own too, for I hate to think of them—yes—even of my dear friend Huntingdon, when I consider the power he possesses over the happiness of one so immeasurably superior to himself, and the use he makes of it—I positively detest the man!”