But this commission the refractory spirit of the young heir made it impossible to execute, till he overheard a whisper to Juliet, that she would take care, should Mr Loddard chuse to go to the Temple, to place the silk-worms above his reach.
Suddenly, then, he sprang from his consolers and attendants, to run forward to the forbidden fruit; and, with a celerity that made it difficult for Juliet, even with her utmost speed, and longer limbs, to arrive at the spot in time to prevent the mischief for which she saw him preparing. She had just, however, succeeded, in depositing the menaced insects upon a high bracket, when a footman came to whisper to her the commands of his lady, that she would detain Mr Loddard till the party should be set off.
Before the man had shut himself out, Ireton, holding up his finger to him in token of secresy, slipt past him into the little building; and, having turned the key on the inside, and put it into his pocket, said, 'I'll stand centinel for little Pickle!' and flung himself, loungingly, upon an arm chair.
Confounded by this action, yet feeling it necessary to appear unintimidated, Juliet affected to occupy herself with the silk-worms; of which the young gentleman now, eager to romp with Ireton, thought no more.
'At last, then, I have caught you, my skittish dear!' cried Ireton, while jumping about the little boy, to keep him in good humour. 'I have had the devil of a difficulty to contrive it. However, I shall make myself amends now, for they are all going to Arundel Castle, and you and I can pass the morning together.'
The indignant look which this boldness excited, he pretended not to observe, and went on.
'I can't possibly be easy without having a little private chat with you. I must consult you about my affairs. I want devilishly to make you my friend. You might be capitally useful to me. And you would find your account in it, I promise you. What sayst thee, my pretty one?'
Juliet, not appearing to hear him, changed the leaves of the silk-worms.
'Can you guess what it is brings me hither to old madam my mother's? It is not you, with all your beauty, you arch prude; though I have a great enjoyment in looking at you and your blushes, which are devilishly handsome, I own; yet, to say the truth, you are not—all together—I don't know how it is—but you are not—upon the whole—quite exactly to my taste. Don't take it ill, my love, for you are a devilish fine girl. I own that. But I want something more skittish, more wild, more eccentric. If I were to fix my fancy upon such symmetry as you, I should be put out of my way every moment. I should always be thinking I had some Minerva tutoring, or some Juno awing me. It would not do at all. I want something of another cast; something that will urge me when I am hippish, without keeping me in order when I am whimsical. Something frisky, flighty, fantastic,—yet panting, blushing, dying with love for me!—'
Neither contempt nor indignation were of sufficient force to preserve the gravity of Juliet, at this unexpected ingenuousness of vanity.