Harry paused for a minute ere he rejoined, laughingly, “You know nothing about what I consider you, Miss Hazlehurst, and therefore I advise you not to form any theories whatsoever on the subject, as they are tolerably certain to be wrong ones.”
“I dare say you have never given yourself the trouble to reflect at all on so frivolous a topic,” returned Alice; “I know your heterodox notions in regard to our sex; you consider us all simpletons.”
“I’m sure I never told you so,” was all the denial Harry’s conscience permitted him to make.
“Not vivâ voce, perhaps,” replied Alice; “but I have heard it second-hand from Master Tom: the boy was uncomplimentary enough before you came, but he has been fifty times worse since you’ve been here to encourage him in his impertinence.”
“A young cub!” muttered Harry aside, “I’ll twist his neck if he tells tales out of school in this way;” turning to Alice, he continued, “it is never too late to mend, is it? If I confess my sins, promise never to do so any more, and throw myself on the mercy of the court, is there any chance of my obtaining forgiveness?”
“As far as I am concerned, yes,” was the reply; “in consideration of your services this afternoon, I graciously accord you a free pardon for all past offences, and for the future we will try and be friends.” As she spoke she half playfully, half in earnest, held out her hand. Harry took it in his own, and shook it—even in a glove it was a nice, warm, soft little hand, a kind of hand that it was impossible to relinquish without giving it a squeeze, at least such was Harry’s impression, and he acted upon it, although to do so was by no means in accordance with his principles; but he did not happen to be thinking about his principles just then. By this time the storm, which had pretty well exhausted itself by its violence, resigned in favour of a lovely sunset; and the horses having come to the conclusion that they had thoroughly disgraced themselves, and behaved with an equal disregard of principle and propriety, trotted steadily along under Coverdale’s skilful guidance, like a pair of four-legged penitents, anxious to retrieve their character. And Harry and Alice suddenly found a great deal to talk about, and were quite surprised when they perceived themselves to be in sight of the Grange; and the gentleman felt moved by a sudden impulse to declare that, despite its unpropitious commencement, he did not know when he had had such a delightful drive, to which the lady replied that it certainly had been very agreeable, an admission which she endeavoured to qualify by attributing her pleasurable sensations to the influence of the setting sun and the delicious coolness of the evening air—a transparent attempt at deception that only rendered the truth more obvious.
The next morning a groom brought back Sir Lancelot, together with a note from Mr. Crane, saying that he had contrived to get wet through on his way to the inn, that he feared he had taken cold, and therefore considered it most prudent to return home for a day or two; adding that he should hope to be sufficiently convalescent to rejoin the party at the Grange that day week, when a dinner was to be given by Mr. Hazlehurst to some of the county magnates. His note wound up with an elaborate inquiry as to whether Alice had experienced any ill-effects from the “atmospheric inclemency,” as he was pleased to style the thunder-storm, accompanied by an infallible specific against all sore-throats, colds, hoarsenesses, and rheumatic affections, which that young lady straightway committed to the waste-paper basket. There was also a note for Horace D’Almayne, from which dropped an inclosure that, as the exquisite stooped to pick it up, looked marvellously like a cheque.
“A—really I find I must go to town—a—business of importance—can I execute any little commissions for you, Miss Hazlehurst? I’ve excellent taste in ribands, I assure you.”
“There, do you hear that!” observed Tom sotto voce to Coverdale. “I always thought he’d been a counter-jumper!”
“Kate, must I accompany him?” inquired Arthur of his cousin, sotto voce; “remember, if you send me from you now, we meet again as strangers!” There was a moment’s struggle, and her colour went and came—then in a cold, hard voice she answered, “Yes, go!”