“You have a shocking habit of driving one up into corners, Alick, but it shall be purely, purely for my own selfish delight,” and she clasped her hands in so droll an affectation of remorse, that the muscles round his eyes quivered with diversion, though the hair on his lip veiled what the corners of his mouth were about; “if only,” she proceeded, “you won’t let it banish you. You must come over to take care of this wicked little sister, or who knows what may be the consequences.”
“I kept away partly because I was busy, and partly because I believe you are such a little ape as always to behave worse when you have the semblance of a keeper;” he said, with his arm fondly on her shoulder as they walked.
“And in the mean time fell out the adventure of the distinguished essayist.”
“I am afraid,” he returned, “that was a gratuitous piece of mischief, particularly annoying to so serious and thoughtful a person as Miss Rachel Curtis.”
“Jealousy?” exclaimed Bessie in an ecstatic tone. “You see what you lost by not trusting me, to behave myself under the provocation of your presence.”
“What! the pleasure of boxing your ears for a coward?”
“Of seizing the happy opening! I am very much afraid for you now, Alick,” she proceeded with mock gravity. “What hope can a poor Captain of Highlanders, even if he does happen to be a wounded hero or two, have against a distinguished essayist and landscape painter; if it were a common case indeed, but where Wisdom herself is concerned—”
“Military frivolity cannot hope,” returned Alick, with a shake of his head, and a calm matter-of-fact acquiescent tone.
“Ah, poor Alick,” pursued his sister, “you always were a discreet youth; but to be connected with such a union of learning, social science, and homeaopathy, soared beyond my utmost ambition. I suppose the wedding tour—supposing the happy event to take place—will be through a series of model schools and hospitals, ending in Hanwell.”
“No,” said Alick, equally coolly, “to the Dutch reformatory, and the Swiss cretin asylum.”