“I am perfectly sure of it, my boy,” said the general; “and, after all, it was an excellent joke,—carried a little too far, it’s true; eh, Lucy?”
But Lucy either heard not, or affected not to hear; and after some little further assurance that he felt not the least annoyed, the general turned to converse with some other friends; while I, burning with indignation against Webber, took a cold farewell of Miss Dashwood, and retired.
CHAPTER XX.
THE LAST NIGHT IN TRINITY.
How I might have met Master Webber after his impersonation of Miss Macan, I cannot possibly figure to myself. Fortunately, indeed, for all parties, he left town early the next morning; and it was some weeks ere he returned. In the meanwhile I became a daily visitor at the general’s, dined there usually three or four times a week, rode out with Lucy constantly, and accompanied her every evening either to the theatre or into society. Sir George, possibly from my youth, seemed to pay little attention to an intimacy which he perceived every hour growing closer, and frequently gave his daughter into my charge in our morning excursions on horseback. As for me, my happiness was all but perfect. I loved, and already began to hope that I was not regarded with indifference; for although Lucy’s manner never absolutely evinced any decided preference towards me, yet many slight and casual circumstances served to show me that my attentions to her were neither unnoticed nor uncared for. Among the many gay and dashing companions of our rides, I remarked that, however anxious for such a distinction, none ever seemed to make any way in her good graces; and I had already gone far in my self-deception that I was destined for good fortune, when a circumstance which occurred one morning at length served to open my eyes to the truth, and blast by one fatal breath the whole harvest of my hopes.
We were about to set out one morning on a long ride, when Sir George’s presence was required by the arrival of an officer who had been sent from the Horse Guards on official business. After half an hour’s delay, Colonel Cameron, the officer in question, was introduced, and entered into conversation with our party. He had only landed in England from the Peninsula a few days before, and had abundant information of the stirring events enacting there. At the conclusion of an anecdote,—I forget what,—he turned suddenly round to Miss Dashwood, who was standing beside me, and said in a low voice:—
“And now, Miss Dashwood, I am reminded of a commission I promised a very old brother officer to perform. Can I have one moment’s conversation with you in the window?”
As he spoke, I perceived that he crumpled beneath his glove something like a letter.
“To me?” said Lucy, with a look of surprise that sadly puzzled me whether to ascribe it to coquetry or innocence,—“to me?”