“Oh, nonsense,” he said. “I gave the insult to them, and of course I only can satisfy them. I do not expect anything, however, from that crowd, as they are too cowardly to resent an insult.”
We parted at his room, and when I reached mine I made Ned put up his books for the night, and listen to my account of Miss Carrover.
When I had at last wearied him out, and we went to bed, I could not go to sleep for the dancing train of fancies that were rushing through my mind. I lay there till far in the night, recalling every incident of my visit, trying to make its memory as vivid as possible, thinking of every word she had said, and regretting the many foolish things I had said, which might lessen me in her estimation—(but oh! I hoped not!)—wondering how she who had seen so much of society, who had seen everything worth seeing in Europe and America, and knew almost everybody worth knowing, could be so interested in my talk—a youth just approaching manhood, unused to the ways of the world and unskilled in the use of the tongue. Then I would, by an ingenious process, known only to those who are vain, endeavor to convince myself that she did like me, and would eventually love me. I would imagine her telling Miss Minnie that I was a handsome fellow, and so entertaining; then wishing for me to call again, then giving me a preference in attention when I did call, then writing sweet notes of thanks for the many love tokens and gifts I would send her, then a moonlight stroll, a courtship, a kiss, and eternal happiness!
I would fall asleep only to rebuild and embellish in my dreams the magnificent air castles of my waking hours.
[CHAPTER XXII.]
The morning after our visit I was in DeVare’s room, waiting for him to come in from lecture, when some one knocked, and, in answer to my invitation, Ellerton, a Sophomore, who had been kind to me at first, entered, and asked for DeVare. Finding that I expected him in soon, he took a seat, and commenced some trivial talk about college matters. He had had nothing to do with me since I joined DeVare’s club, and a salutation when we passed had been the extent of our intercourse since early in the session.
He spoke with regret of the last night’s affair, and said DeVare ought not to have been so quick to resent the fellows’ fun. This, of course, nettled me, and I was about to make an angry reply, when DeVare himself came in. He bowed to Ellerton, who rose and handed him a note. DeVare’s brow contracted as he read it, and as soon as he finished he tossed it to me, and sitting down to his writing table, commenced his reply. The note he had received was from Brazon, demanding a retraction of the language used last evening, and an apology in the presence of both ladies, or the usual satisfaction. Ere I had finished reading DeVare folded and addressed his answer, and Ellerton, receiving it, bowed himself out.
DeVare looked at me and smiled as I asked him what he intended to do.
“My self-respect forbids that I should entertain a thought of yielding to the first demand; custom and public opinion compel me to grant the second. I wrote, therefore, that I had no remark to regret, and no retraction to make; and that I would accord him any satisfaction he might desire I took the liberty of referring him to you, as my friend.”