“Why, my love, it's very unlucky—very awkward indeed; but one comfort is we're told it's all for the best when everything goes wrong—a very great comfort that is if one could only believe it; but poor Mr. Vernor, you see he was quite unhappy, I'm sure, he looked so cross, and no wonder, having to go up to London all in a hurry, and such a cold day too.”
At the mention of this name my attention, which had been gradually dying a natural death, suddenly revived, and it was with a degree of impatience, which I could scarcely restrain, that I awaited the conclusion of Mrs. Coleman's rambling account. After a great deal of circumlocution, of which I will mercifully spare the reader the infliction, the following facts were elicited:—About an hour before our arrival, Mr. Vernor, accompanied by his ward, had called to see Mr. Coleman, and, finding he was from home, had asked for a few minutes' conversation with the lady of the house. His reason for so doing soon appeared; he had received letters requiring his immediate presence in London on business, which might probably detain him for a day or two; and not liking to leave Miss Saville quite alone, he had called with the intention of begging Mrs. Coleman to allow her niece, Lucy Markham, to stay with her friend at Barstone Priory till his return, and to save her from the horrors of solitude. This plan being rendered impracticable by reason of Lucy's absence.
Mrs. Coleman proposed that Miss Saville should remain with her till Mr. Vernor's return, which, she added, would be conferring a benefit on her, as her husband and son being both from home, she was sadly dull without a companion. This plan having removed all difficulties, Mr. Vernor proceeded on his journey without further delay. Good Mrs. Coleman's agitation on our arrival bad been produced by the consciousness that Mr. Vernor would by no means approve of the addition of two dangerous young men to the party; however, Freddy consoled her by the ingenious sophism that it was much better for us to have arrived together than for him to have returned alone, as we should now neutralise each other's attractions; and, while the young lady's pleasure in our society would be doubled, she would be effectually guarded against falling in love with either of us, by reason of the impossibility of her overlooking the equal merits of what Mrs. Coleman would probably have termed “the survivor “. Having settled this knotty point to his own satisfaction, and perplexed his mother into the belief that our arrival was rather a fortunate circumstance than otherwise, Freddy despatched her to break the glorious tidings, as he called it, to the young lady, cautioning her to do so carefully, and by degrees, for that joy was very often quite as dangerous in its effects as sorrow.
Having closed the door after her, he relieved his feelings by a slight extempore hornpipe, and then slapping me on the back, exclaimed, “Here's a transcendent go! if this ain't taking the change out of old Vernor, I'm a Dutchman. Frank, you villain, you lucky dog, you've got it all your own way this time; not a chance for me; I may as well shut up shop at once, and buy myself a pair of pumps to dance in at your wedding.”
“My dear fellow, how can you talk such utter nonsense?” returned I, trying to persuade myself that I was not pleased, but annoyed, at his insinuations.
“It's no nonsense, Master Frank, but, as I consider it, a very melancholy statement of facts. Why, even putting aside your 'antécédents,' as the French have it, the roasted wrist, the burnt ball-dress, and all the rest of it, look at your present advantages; here you are, just returned from the university, covered with academical honours, your cheeks paled by deep and abstruse study over the midnight lamp; your eyes flashing with unnatural lustre, indicative of an overwrought mind; a graceful languor softening the nervous energy of your manner, and imparting additional tenderness to the fascination of your address; in fact, till you begin to get into condition again you are the very beau ideal of what the women consider interesting and romantic.”
“Well done, Freddy,” replied I, “we shall discover a hidden vein of poetry in you some of these fine days; but talking of condition leads me to ask what time your good mother intends us to dine?”
“There, now you have spoilt it all,” was the rejoinder; “however, viewed abstractedly, and without reference to the romantic, it's not such a bad notion either. I'll ring and inquire.”
He accordingly did so, and, finding we had not above half an hour to wait, he proposed that we should go to our dressing-rooms and adorn before we attempted to face “the enemy,” as he rudely designated Miss Saville.
It was not without a feeling of trepidation, for which I should have been at a loss to account, that I ventured to turn the handle of the drawing-room door, where I expected to find the party assembled before dinner. Miss Saville, who was seated on a low chair by Mrs. Coleman's side, rose quietly on my entrance, and advanced a step or two to meet me, holding out her hand with the unembarrassed familiarity of an old acquaintance. The graceful ease of her manner at once restored my self-possession, and, taking her proffered hand, I expressed my pleasure at thus unexpectedly meeting her again.