“His confidence of success is unshaken. It was only t' other night, as we sat at a very frugal supper, he said, 'You 'll remember all this, Tom, one of these days; and as you sip your Burgundy, you 'll tell your friends how jolly we thought ourselves over our little acid wine and an onion.' I did not dare to say what was uppermost in my thoughts, that I disbelieved in the Burgundy era.”
“It would have been cruel to have done it.”
“He had the habit, he tells me, in his days of palmiest prosperity, of going off by himself on foot, and wandering about for weeks, roughing it amongst all sorts of people,—-gypsies, miners, charcoal-burners in the German forests, and such-like. He said, without something of this sort, he would have grown to believe that all the luxuries he lived amongst were bona fide necessities of life. He was afraid too, he said, they would become part of him; for his theory is, never let your belongings master your own nature.”
“There is great romance in such a man.”
“Ah! there you have it, Lucy; that's the key to his whole temperament; and I 'd not be surprised if he had been crossed in some early love.”
“Would that account for all his capricious ways?” said she, smiling.
“My own experiences can tell me nothing; but I have a sister who could perhaps help me to an explanation. Eh, Lucy? What think you?”
She tried to laugh off the theme, but the attempt only half succeeded, and she turned away her head to hide her confusion.
Tom took her hand between his own, and patted it affectionately.
“I want no confessions, my own dear Lucy,” said he, gently; “but if there is anything which, for your own happiness or for my honor, I ought to know, you will tell me of it, I am certain.”