“‘And pray, sir, what do you want here?’
“Feeling by no means inclined to enter abruptly upon family affairs in presence of the servants, I paused. But certain inward cravings, aroused by the sight of the good things before me, soon furnished me with an idea, and with a decidedly suggestive emphasis, I answered, ‘I have not had any dinner yet.’ My uncle again looked at me, to see whether my observation was the result of impudence or simplicity—deciding apparently in favour of the latter, he desired the servant to place me a chair, and give me a knife and fork. Fortified by a good dinner, and encouraged by a kind twinkle in the corner of my uncle’s eye, which belied all his attempts to look angry, I soon began to chatter away freely, and enlighten my newly-found relative as to my opinion of things in general. After the cloth was removed, and I had volunteered grace; at which my uncle appeared first surprised and then edified, he began—
“‘Now, boy, tell me the truth—but first, you shall have a glass of wine; which will you take?’
“‘I always tell the truth, uncle, even if it gets me a thrashing; and I’ll take port, for that’s the only wine fit for a gentleman,’ answered I, which reply so delighted my uncle, that he poured me out a bumper, and patting me on the back exclaimed—
“‘Bravo, my boy! stick to truth and port wine through life, and you’ll be a credit to your name!’
“That speech of mine won the day! I explained the object of my visit, and that it had originated wholly with myself; and succeeded so well, that on the following morning my uncle accompanied me home, was reconciled to my father, to whom, till the day of his death (which occurred within the next year), he showed every kindness, and after that event took my dear mother to reside with him at the Park, provided for my education, and eventually made me his heir.”
To this recital, followed by a detail of many of those pure thoughts and deep feelings which lie hidden in the breast of every generous-hearted man, till heaven blesses him with a female friend worthy to receive such sacred confidence, did Alice listen with growing interest and sympathy; and when, two hours afterwards, Mr. Hazlehurst returned home in a great state of universal vinous philanthropy, Harry and his companion could scarcely believe they had been walking together for more than half-an-hour.
The week passed away like a dream. Harry walked, and drove, and sang, and read poetry with the young ladies, and found himself especially happy and comfortable. Moreover, he contrived to institute a system of romantic rambles with Alice, during which they talked about all those peculiar subjects which can only be discussed comfortably in a tête-à-tête—thoughts and feelings too delicate to be submitted to the rough handling of a crowd. And Alice, after three days’ experience, told Kate Marsden, in strict confidence, that she had formed the highest opinion of Mr. Coverdale’s principles; that he was so good and sensible, and in every way superior to the young men one generally meets, that it was quite a privilege to possess his friendship—didn’t Kate think so? To which Kate replied in the affirmative; adding, that girls were usually so frivolous and empty-headed that they were not worth cultivating. “Where was the good of making friends of people, unless one could look up to them?” Alice responded, “Where, indeed!” and considered that Kate took a very proper and sensible view of the matter.
One small incident occurred, however, which somewhat ruffled the smooth surface of Alice’s tranquillity. Two or three days after the picnic, there arrived from Mr. Crane a note, together with a slim and genteel quadruped, possessing a greyhound-like outline, shadowy legs, and a long tail, and purporting to be a thoroughly-broken lady’s horse, with which the cotton-spinner begged—“Miss Alice would allow him to replace the pony injured by the furious riding of her brother and Mr. Coverdale,”—an association in iniquity which delighted Tom as much as it provoked Harry, and, secretly, Alice also. This horse Mr. Hazlehurst insisted upon it Alice should not refuse; and he became so angry when a faint remonstrance was attempted, that the poor girl quitted his study in tears—a melancholy fact, which Emily, in a truly feminine and injudicious burst of virtuous indignation, revealed to Coverdale, thereby laying in him the foundation of a deeply-rooted aversion to the animal, which led to results that would have been better avoided.
The morning following the arrival of this undesirable addition to the family, Mr. Hazlehurst announced his intention of riding over to call upon and inquire after Mr. Crane, and his wish (which meant command) that Alice should accompany him on her new horse. “Mr. Coverdale, will you ride with us?” continued the head of the family, graciously; “I do not think you have seen Crane Court yet. The scenery in and around the park is very rich, and the view from the terrace most extensive.”