The conversation of Herbert himself was not in general of a very cheerful tone; it was occasionally pungent, shrewd, and keen in the remarks, but that of a man who, having mingled much with the world--partaken of its pleasures, shared in its strife, and known its sorrows--had withdrawn for several years from any very active participation in the pursuits of other men, still watching eagerly as a spectator the scenes in which he had once been an actor.
The connexion between him and Agnes had somewhat puzzled Algernon Grey at his first entrance. Their evident familiarity, their affection one for the other, had perhaps pained him for an instant--it was but for an instant; for, though she gave the old soldier both her hands, and kissed with her glowing lips his weather-beaten cheek, it was all done so frankly, so candidly, that the young Englishman felt there must be something to warrant it--that there was nothing to be concealed. He then asked himself more than once, what the relationship could be? but it was not till he had been there nearly an hour, that the fair girl, in addressing Herbert, called him "My dear uncle."
Algernon Grey asked himself why he should have felt pained at her familiarity with any man, whether her near relative or not?--but it was a question which he could not or would not answer, and he hurried away from it to other things. "I knew not," he said, "that this fair lady was your kinswoman, Colonel Herbert, though we spoke of her at good Dr. Alting's this morning."
"You gave me no reason to know that it was of her you spoke," answered Herbert, with a smile.
"Yes, methinks I did," said the other gaily: "I told you I had been at the court revel last night, and had passed the hours with a lady whom I described right well."
"Oh, let me hear, dear uncle! let me hear!" exclaimed Agnes; "I should so much like to hear a stranger's description of myself,--you must tell me all he said."
"That is because you are vain, my child," answered the old soldier; "you would not like to hear it, if you thought he had blamed you:--Nay, I will not tell you a word."
"Then I will divine for myself," cried Agnes; "and you shall see whether I am vain or not. He said he had met a wild romantic girl, not very courtly in her manners, who had talked to him all night on themes which might have suited a painter or a chaplain better than a court lady; that she danced better than she talked,--dressed better than she danced,--and had a sovereign objection to love-speeches."
Algernon Grey smiled, and Herbert replied, tapping her cheek with his fingers, but looking round to their young companion: "You see, sir, in what these women's vanity consists--dancing and dressing! But you are wrong, Agnes, altogether. He said not a word of your dress,--he took no notice of your dancing,--he did not object to your prattle,--and he told me nothing of his having made you love-speeches."
"Neither did he," cried Agnes, with her cheek glowing at the conclusion which her relation had drawn; "we heard many a one passing around us, but he made none. That was the reason I liked his conversation, and I told him so."