“Nonsense!” he cried, almost angrily.
“Well! you used to seem very much smitten, but so, to be sure, were some of the Alcestes with the young ladies at Valparaiso. How we used to roast Owen about that Spanish Donna, and he was as bad at Sydney about the young lady whose father, we told him, was a convict, though he kept such a swell carriage. He had no peace about his father-in-law, the house-breaker! Don’t I remember how you pinched her hand the night you were righted!”
“You know nothing about it,” said Norman shortly. “She is far beyond my reach.”
“A fine lady? Ha! Well, I should have thought you as good as Flora any day,” said Harry indignantly.
“She is what she always was,” said Norman, anxious to silence him; “but it is unreasonable to think of it. She is all but engaged to Sir Henry Walkinghame.”
“Walkinghame!” cried the volatile sailor. “I have half a mind to send in my name to Flora as Miss Walkinghame!” and he laughed heartily over that adventure, ending, however, with a sigh, as he said, “It had nearly cost me a great deal! But tell me, Norman, how has that Meta, as they called her, turned out? I never saw anything prettier or nicer than she was that day of the Roman encampment, and I should be sorry if that fine fashionable aunt of hers, had made her stuck-up and disdainful.”
“No such thing,” said Norman.
“Ha!” said Harry to himself, “I see how it is! She has gone and made poor old June unhappy, with her scornful airs—a little impertinent puss!—I wonder Flora does not teach her better manners.”
Norman, meanwhile, as the train sped over roofs, and among chimneys, was reproaching himself for running into the fascination of her presence, and then recollecting that her situation, as well as his destiny, both guaranteed that they could meet only as friendly connections.
No carriage awaited them at the station, which surprised Norman, till he recollected that the horses had probably been out all day, and it was eight o’clock. Going to Park Lane in a cab, the brothers were further surprised to find themselves evidently not expected. The butler came to speak to them, saying that Mr. and Mrs. Rivers were gone out to dinner, but would return, probably, at about eleven o’clock. He conducted them upstairs, Harry following his brother, in towering vexation and disappointment, trying to make him turn to hear that they would go directly—home—to Eton—anywhere—why would he go in at all?