But Fitzsimmons was not now to be put off. He had been shown into one of the parlours, and going to the writing-case on the centre-table, he took a sheet of paper, and addressed to her an epistle expressing in the most ardent terms his admiration and his love, and concluding with the hope that she would grant him an interview. There was not, of course, the slightest allusion to the events of the preceding evening. The letter was conceived with as much delicacy as warmth, and highly elevated the writer in the opinion of the reader. Still, she hesitated whether to see him or not. Her heart said yes—but her pride said no. And at length she most heroically determined to send him a written refusal, not only of the interview but of himself, that in case he should have dared to presume that the unfortunate scene at the ball could possibly have meant anything more than a jest, so preposterous an idea might be banished from his mind for ever.
In this spirit she commenced several replies to his letter, but found it impossible to indite them in such terms as to satisfy herself; and, after wasting half a dozen sheets of paper with unsuccessful beginnings, she committed them all to the fire. Finally, she concluded that she could explain herself more effectually in a personal interview, whatever embarrassment the sight of him might occasion her. But not being able at this time to summon courage to meet him face to face, she sent down a note of three lines, informing Mr. Fitzsimmons that she would see him in the evening at seven o'clock.
Several of Lucinda's friends called to talk about the ball, but she excused herself from seeing them, and passed the remainder of the day up stairs, in one long thought of Fitzsimmons, and in dwelling on the painful idea that the avowal of his sentiments had, in all probability, been elicited by her indiscretion of the preceding evening. "But," said she to herself, "I will steadily persist in declining his addresses; I will positively refuse him, for unless I do so, I never can recover my own self-respect. I will make this sacrifice to delicacy, and even then I shall never cease to regret my folly in having allowed myself to be carried so far in the thoughtless levity of the moment."
Being thus firmly resolved on dismissing her admirer, it is not to be supposed that Lucinda could attach the smallest consequence to looking well that evening, during what she considered their final interview. Therefore we must, of course, attribute to accident the length of time she spent in considering which she should wear of two new silk dresses; one being of the colour denominated ashes of roses—the other of the tint designated as monkey's sighs. Though ashes of roses seemed emblematic of an extinguished flame, yet monkey's sighs bore more direct reference to a rejected lover, which, perhaps, was the reason that she finally decided on it. There was likewise a considerable demur about a canezou and a pelerine, but eventually the latter carried the day. And it was long, also, before she could determine on the most becoming style of arranging her hair, wavering between plaits and braids. At last the braids had it.
Mr. Fitzsimmons was announced a quarter before seven, his watch being undoubtedly too fast. Lucinda came down in ill-concealed perturbation, repeating to herself, as she descended the stairs, "Yes—my rejection of him shall be positive—and my adherence to it firm and inexorable."
Whether it was so we will not presume to say, but this much is certain—that in a month from that time the delinquent gentlemen made the amende honorable by giving the ladies a most splendid ball, at which the ci-devant Miss Mandeville and Mr. Gordon Fitzsimmons made their first appearance in public as bride and bridegroom, to the great delight of Colonel Kingswood.