And yet that evening, when Pauline and Colonel Summers came to see Mrs. Amory for a few moments, I was still there. The violets were by Amory's bedside up-stairs; Mrs. Amory made no allusion to them, but I did, unblushingly; and neither affirming nor denying that she had sent them, Miss Summers silenced me by saying that she was glad they gave Mr. Amory pleasure, and instantly changed the subject and addressed her talk to her lady friend. Driving home, however, she was at my mercy and I again pressed the matter. A keen suspicion was actually beginning to glimmer in my brain.
"You sent those violets of course, Miss Summers?"
"If so, why ask me, Mr. Brandon?"
"Well! Didn't you, then?"
"No, sir; I never even knew of their being sent." And Miss Summers was plainly and mischievously enjoying my perplexity.
Leaving me at my rooms, the brother and sister continued on their homeward way and their enthusiastic chat about Mrs. Amory, which my unfeeling curiosity had broken in upon. It was quite late and my letters had been brought up from the office. First on the package was the one for which I was eagerly waiting,—the answer to my diplomatic missive to Bella Grayson. Ignoring all others I plunged instanter into that, and was rewarded—as I deserved.
"Dear Uncle George," she wrote.—"It was such a treat and so rare an honor to receive a letter from your august hand, that for some time I could not believe it was intended for me at all. Indeed, to be very frank, the closing page rather confirmed me in that impression. You men always taunt us by saying that the gist of a woman's letter lies in the postscript (one cynical acquaintance of mine went so far as to say that it lies all the way through), and yet not until that last page was reached did I discover the object of yours. Now, Uncle Georgy, isn't that circumlocution itself? Confess.
"But you really do seem 'interested in young Amory,' as you call him; and his 'evident admiration for a fair young friend of yours—an heiress—commands your entire sympathy.' What a cold-blooded, mercenary avowal, M. mon oncle! or, do you—is it possible that you mean—you too are interested in her? No! That is hardly tenable as a supposition. There is something so disingenuous about the rest of the letter that your interest is evidently on his account. Thank you ever so much for 'having half a mind to take me into your confidence.' And now, how can I dispel your perplexity? With the best intentions in the world, how powerless I am!
"You believe he has some lady correspondent up North. Well, that strikes me as quite a reasonable supposition. Indeed, I have heard that most of them have; but what—what did I ever say to lead to such a remark as this: 'Knowing what susceptible fellows cadets are (from your own statements)'? What could I ever have said to give you such an impression? Why, Uncle George, how should I know whether they are susceptible or not? and how could you be so cruel as to allude to the dismal fact that I had been up there every summer for six or eight years, and am still Bella Grayson? Does that look as though I thought them susceptible?
"But seriously; you say that Mr. Amory has become involved in 'some entanglement there from which he would now gladly escape,' and you fancy that Mr. Amory has done me the honor to make me his confidante; but herein you are mistaken. Certainly I have never heard a word from him of an 'entanglement,' nor do I remember his being devoted to any young girl in particular. Indeed, he struck me as being rather general in his attentions, what little I saw of him. It would be a great pleasure, no doubt, 'to help him out of his boyish folly and into something worth having,' to use your own words, but indeed, Uncle George, you overrate my influence entirely.
"Nevertheless, I always liked Mr. Amory very much, and am greatly interested in his romance. Perhaps if you were to tell me what he said to make you think he wanted to escape from his Northern entanglement, I might be able to recall some one of his flames to whom the remarks would be applicable. Tell me what you know and then my 'thinking-cap' may be put on to some advantage. Just now I'm much in the dark, and, except very casually indeed, have not heard from Mr. Amory for quite a while (How definite!—G. S. B.), and as he never mentioned this new charmer to his 'confidante,' I am most curious to hear of her. Do tell me who she is, what she is like. Is she pretty? of course that is the first question; is she—anything, everything, in fact? Do be a good Uncle Georgy and write. We were all so glad to hear from you, but as I answered, I shall expect an answer equally prompt. So write speedily to
"Your loving niece,
"Bella."
When Mr. Brandon finally sought his bachelor pillow that night, it is regretfully recorded that he, like Dogberry, remembered that he was writ an ass.