“I’ve been thinking, Charley,” said he, after a pause of about ten minutes,—“I’ve been thinking over our adventures in Lisbon. Devilish strange girl that senhora! When you resigned in my favor, I took it for granted that all difficulty was removed. Confound it! I no sooner began to profit by your absence, in pressing my suit, than she turned short round, treated me with marked coldness, exhibited a hundred wilful and capricious fancies, and concluded one day by quietly confessing to me you were the only man she cared for.”
“You are not serious in all this, Fred?” said I.
“Ain’t I though, by Jove! I wish to Heaven I were not! My dear Charley, the girl is an inveterate flirt,—a decided coquette. Whether she has a particle of heart or not, I can’t say; but certainly her greatest pleasure is to trifle with that of another. Some absurd suspicion that you were in love with Lucy Dashwood piqued her vanity, and the anxiety to recover a lapsing allegiance led her to suppose herself attached to you, and made her treat all my advances with the most frigid indifference or wayward caprice; the more provoking,” continued he, with a kind of bitterness in his tone, “as her father was disposed to take the thing favorably; and, if I must say it, I felt devilish spooney about her myself.
“It was only two days before I left, that in a conversation with Don Emanuel, he consented to receive my addresses to his daughter on my becoming lieutenant-colonel. I hastened back with delight to bring her the intelligence, and found her with a lock of hair on the book before her, over which she was weeping. Confound me, if it was not yours! I don’t know what I said, nor what she replied; but when we parted, it was with a perfect understanding we were never to meet again. Strange girl! She came that evening, put her arm within mine as I was walking alone in the garden, and half in jest, half in earnest, talked me out of all my suspicions, and left me fifty times more in love with her than ever. Egad! I thought I used to know something about women, but here is a chapter I’ve yet to read. Come, now, Charley, be frank with me; tell me all you know.”
“My poor Fred, if you were not head and ears in love, you would see as plainly as I do that your affairs prosper. And after all, how invariable is it that the man who has been the veriest flirt with women,—sighing, serenading, sonneteering, flinging himself at the feet of every pretty girl he meets with,—should become the most thorough dupe to his own feelings when his heart is really touched. Your man of eight-and-thirty is always the greatest fool about women.”
“Confound your impertinence! How the devil can a fellow with a mustache not stronger that a Circassian’s eyebrow read such a lecture to me?”
“Just for the very reason you’ve mentioned. You glide into an attachment at my time of life; you fall in love at yours.”
“Yes,” said Power, musingly, “there is some truth in that. This flirting is sad work. It is just like sparring with a friend; you put on the gloves in perfect good humor, with the most friendly intentions of exchanging a few amicable blows; you find yourself insensibly warm with the enthusiasm of the conflict, and some unlucky hard knock decides the matter, and it ends in a downright fight.
“Few men, believe me, are regular seducers; and among those who behave ‘vilely’ (as they call it), three-fourths of the number have been more sinned against than sinning. You adventure upon love as upon a voyage to India. Leaving the cold northern latitudes of first acquaintance behind you, you gradually glide into the warmer and more genial climate of intimacy. Each day you travel southward shortens the miles and the hours of your existence; so tranquil is the passage, and so easy the transition, you suffer no shock by the change of temperature about you. Happy were it for us that in our courtship, as in our voyage, there were some certain Rubicon to remind us of the miles we have journeyed! Well were it if there were some meridian in love!”
“I’m not sure, Fred, that there is not that same shaving process they practise on the line, occasionally performed for us by parents and guardians at home; and I’m not certain that the iron hoop of old Neptune is not a pleasanter acquaintance than the hair-trigger of some indignant and fire-eating brother. But come, Fred, you have not told me the most important point,—how fare your fortunes now; or in other words, what are your present prospects as regards the senhora?”