Tom evidently did not wish to appear marked and particular, or to excite more observation than could be well avoided; he consequently made his approaches very gradually, speaking to some other young ladies of his acquaintance in the group before he addressed the objet aimée.
I marked the pretty Julia, who, though doubtless aware of the motive, bit her lip, and seemed ill to bear even this assumed indifference. True love is a brittle affair, and, like a box of china, must be managed “with caution.”
Tom, however, at length approached; many a curious eye was upon them, and now, “rebel nature” unfurled her crimson flag, and the little god of love beat his rat-tat-too; in other words, the conscious blush overspread the lovely Julia’s countenance, and the palpitations of her bosom told full plainly all that was passing in the little heart beneath.
Ensign Rattleton, with an attempt at unconcern, presented his hand, and a seat being unoccupied by her side, he rather awkwardly (for he was not himself) slid into it.
Poor Tom! his efforts at composure, marred by the consciousness that he was the object of observation—his blushes and her tell-tale looks of mingled tenderness and admiration, were all too palpable to escape notice.
“Its all up with him,” said the caustic old bachelor captain whom I had met at the colonel’s, giving me a slight touch with his elbow; “as dead a case of splice as I ever saw in my life—well, humph!—better let it alone, and remain as he is. He’ll think so too when the butchas (children) and the bills come tumbling in together by-and-by.”
Lucinda now, at the desire of some of the company, gave us some charming airs to the accompaniment of the guitar, which she touched with peculiar grace; Maria afterwards warbled to the piano, and finally, by particular desire, sung a lively native song, the burthen of which was “Hilly milly puniya,” the great delight of the old collector, who stood over her, shaking his head, beating time with his hands, as if quite at home in the matter, and occasionally footing it in a mincing burlesque way, which I was afterwards told was a jocular imitation of the Indian nautch girls, with whom this song is a favourite; it constituting one of that mellifluous variety, with which I have often since heard them “startle the dull ear of night.”
A good deal of merriment was caused by the collector’s animated earnestness, and the young hands cried “encore!” One of his friends, an old colonel, present, exclaimed,
“Why, you nautch superbly, Dilkhoob (for that was his name); I did not expect such activity at your time of life.”
“Ah! don’t I—don’t I?” said the merry old gentleman. “But what do you mean, sir, by my time of life? five-and-twenty only last birthday! We young fellows must be always in action—always in action.”