“Jack, you are persistent,” said DeVare, with a laugh in the corner of each eye, as if he foresaw my confusion, “the lady I was riding with this afternoon was Miss Lillian Carrover, Charlie’s sister.”
I felt a hot tingle run up my cheeks, then run down again, and I glanced hurriedly at Carrover. He was still standing at the bookcase with his back toward me, and seemed as if he had not heard our conversation. I first thought of asking his pardon, but on second thought I changed the subject, and, after making one or two common-place remarks, left the room, resolving in the future not to be so free with my tongue.
The next day Ramie assured me that Carrover had not thought anything of it, and told me that if I still desired her acquaintance he would take much pleasure in introducing me. I informed him that no other thought or hope had been entertained by me since I had seen her, and besought him to make his convenience as early as possible.
We fixed on the morrow’s night as the time of our visit, and the pages of my books were all blank to my prëoccupied thoughts for the next twenty-four hours.
Virgil wrote about Lillian instead of Amaryllis, and stolid Socrates seemed to advise the cultivation of love for an angel in blue velvet. An equation of the fourth degree on the blackboard resolved itself into a horse, with a leg for each degree; and the only thing in the Algebra of any interest to me was the concrete example about the saddle and bridle being changed by mountings of different value. I was constantly with DeVare when not in lecture, and gathered from him, in reference to my sudden flame, that she was Carrover’s only sister; that she was a North Carolinian by birth, but had been adopted by a rich uncle in New York; that she had been a Fifth Avenue belle since her fifteenth year; that she had returned in the last spring from an extended European tour; that she had made a conquest of all the hearts from Saratoga to the White Sulphur during the past summer; and, while staying at the last named springs, had met with Miss Minnie, our Professor’s daughter, an old playmate and friend. Reviving the old intimacy, she had agreed to come to North Carolina with her, and spend part of the winter at the University.
On the morrow’s afternoon DeVare showed me a delicately perfumed billet-doux, in most exquisite chirography, stating that Miss Carrover would be most happy to see Mr. DeVare and his friend from half past nine to ten and half. As the parlors of the favorite young ladies at the University were crowded every night, the plan had been adopted of engaging the hours, so that a young lady could specify the hour at which she would receive a visit from a gentleman, and he was not at liberty to stay longer unless he was specially invited, and no others had come in. Where there were so many students to so few ladies this served to avoid confusion, and gave the many who wished to call something like a chance to be heard, each for himself.
That evening, immediately after tea, I commenced getting ready, and after completely exhausting my wardrobe and patience, felt but poorly prepared to be introduced to a young lady who had actually been to Europe, and reigned as one of the queens of our metropolitan society.
As we neared the door I wondered that DeVare could be so cool and composed, while my heart was fluttering so that my limbs caught the tremor, and, in spite of the warm, pleasant night, persisted in having the ague. I saw that the curtain was down as we knocked at the door, but there was the reflection of light within, and the murmur of several voices. I had been thinking all the time of what to say first. I felt that I could get on very well after the conversation started, but how to fill up with appropriate remarks that dismal silence just after the introduction, was more than my inexperience could compass. I had made up some absurd compliment about the beautiful northern flower blooming still sweetly in southern soil, but the rat-tat of the knocker dissipated every collected thought, and left my mind blanker than before.
A servant answered our knock; we hung our hats on the stand. I arranged my cravat and smoothed on my glove for the thirty-seventh time, and the next thing I knew I was in a throng of faces, from which rose up one with a wavy mass of tawny hair, drooping sleepy eyes, and red lips, that parted over smooth white teeth. I thought I heard DeVare’s voice, as in a dream: “Miss Carrover, allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Smith,” and I bowed till the part in my hair alone was visible.
There was another lady in the room, Miss Minnie, the daughter of the Professor, and I took the only seat in sight, which was near her. Notwithstanding our engagement, the parlor was full of gentlemen, and, to my horror, many of them were Sophs. There was quite a crowd of these around Miss Minnie, who was a vivacious little personage, full of mischief and wit, and dispensing her smiles and bon mots around with generous impartiality. As the conversation had begun before I entered I could not very well join in, and as no one addressed any remark to me, I sat bolt upright in my chair, with one arm thrown, with an attempt at ease, over the back, while the other fumbled at my watch chain.