“But I’ve heard uncle say he was a sad wild fellow himself, when he was young.”
She sternly shook her head.
“He was jesting then, I suppose,” said I, “and here he was speaking at random—at least, I cannot believe there is any harm in those laughing blue eyes.”
“False reasoning, Helen!” said she, with a sigh.
“Well, we ought to be charitable, you know, aunt—besides, I don’t think it is false: I am an excellent physiognomist, and I always judge of people’s characters by their looks—not by whether they are handsome or ugly, but by the general cast of the countenance. For instance, I should know by your countenance that you were not of a cheerful, sanguine disposition; and I should know by Mr. Wilmot’s, that he was a worthless old reprobate; and by Mr. Boarham’s, that he was not an agreeable companion; and by Mr. Huntingdon’s, that he was neither a fool nor a knave, though, possibly, neither a sage nor a saint—but that is no matter to me, as I am not likely to meet him again—unless as an occasional partner in the ball-room.”
It was not so, however, for I met him again next morning. He came to call upon my uncle, apologising for not having done so before, by saying he was only lately returned from the Continent, and had not heard, till the previous night, of my uncle’s arrival in town; and after that I often met him; sometimes in public, sometimes at home; for he was very assiduous in paying his respects to his old friend, who did not, however, consider himself greatly obliged by the attention.
“I wonder what the deuce the lad means by coming so often,” he would say,—“can you tell, Helen?—Hey? He wants none o’ my company, nor I his—that’s certain.”
“I wish you’d tell him so, then,” said my aunt.
“Why, what for? If I don’t want him, somebody does, mayhap” (winking at me). “Besides, he’s a pretty tidy fortune, Peggy, you know—not such a catch as Wilmot; but then Helen won’t hear of that match: for, somehow, these old chaps don’t go down with the girls—with all their money, and their experience to boot. I’ll bet anything she’d rather have this young fellow without a penny, than Wilmot with his house full of gold. Wouldn’t you, Nell?”
“Yes, uncle; but that’s not saying much for Mr. Huntingdon; for I’d rather be an old maid and a pauper than Mrs. Wilmot.”