“The colonel was trying this very day to guess what he is worth; but he says it is impossible to guess it.”
“And the young man is his heir?”
“It is thought so; and reading for College, I hear. They say he is clever.”
“Present him, my love; I like clever people,” said Mrs. M’Catchley, falling back languidly.
About ten minutes afterwards, Richard Avenel having effected his escape from the colonel, and his gaze being attracted towards the sofa-table by the buzz of the admiring crowd, beheld his nephew in animated conversation with the long cherished idol of his dreams. A fierce pang of jealousy shot through his breast. His nephew had never looked so handsome and so intelligent; in fact, poor Leonard had never before been drawn out by a woman of the world, who had learned how to make the most of what little she knew. And as jealousy operates like a pair of bellows on incipient flames, so, at first sight of the smile which the fair widow bestowed upon Leonard, the heart of Mr. Avenel felt in a blaze.
He approached with a step less assured than usual, and, overhearing Leonard’s talk, marvelled much at the boy’s audacity. Mrs. M’Catchley had been speaking of Scotland and the Waverley Novels, about which Leonard knew nothing. But he knew Burns, and on Burns he grew artlessly eloquent. Burns the poet and peasant—Leonard might well be eloquent on him. Mrs. M’Catchley was amused and pleased with his freshness and naivete, so unlike anything she had ever heard or seen, and she drew him on and on till Leonard fell to quoting. And Richard heard, with less respect for the sentiment than might be supposed, that
“Rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
The man’s the gowd for a’ that.”
“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Avenel. “Pretty piece of politeness to tell that to a lady like the Honourable Mrs. M’Catch ley! You’ll excuse him, ma’am.”
“Sir!” said Mrs. M’Catchley, startled, and lifting her glass. Leonard, rather confused, rose and offered his chair to Richard, who dropped into it. The lady, without waiting for formal introduction, guessed that she saw the rich uncle. “Such a sweet poet-Burns!” said she, dropping her glass. “And it is so refreshing to find so much youthful enthusiasm,” she added, pointing her fan towards Leonard, who was receding fast among the crowd.
“Well, he is youthful, my nephew,—rather green!”