“It is time, Sir George, I should think of thanking you. I never was so mounted in my life—”
“A splendid charger, by Jove!” said Power; “but, Charley, my lad, no more feats of this nature, if you love me. No girl’s heart will stand such continual assaults as your winning horsemanship submits it to.”
I was about making some half-angry reply, when he continued: “There, don’t look sulky; I have news for you. Quill has just arrived. I met him at Lisbon; he has got leave of absence for a few days, and is coming to our masquerade here this evening.”
“This evening!” said I, in amazement; “why, is it so soon?”
“Of course it is. Have you not got all your trappings ready? The Dashwoods came out here on purpose to spend the day; but come, I’ll drive you into town. My tilbury is ready, and we’ll both look out for our costumes.” So saying, he led me along towards the house, when, after a rapid change of my toilet, we set out for Lisbon.
CHAPTER XVII.
MAURICE.
It seemed a conceded matter between Power and myself that we should never recur to the conversation we held in the garden; and so, although we dined tête-à-tête that day, neither of us ventured, by any allusion the most distant, to advert to what it was equally evident was uppermost in the minds of both.
All our endeavors, therefore, to seem easy and unconcerned were in vain; a restless anxiety to seem interested about things and persons we were totally indifferent to, pervaded all our essays at conversation. By degrees, we grew weary of the parts we were acting, and each relapsed into a moody silence, thinking over his plans and projects, and totally forgetting the existence of the other.