Volume Two—Chapter Three.
Reversed Proceedings.
Some people might have called Charley Vining a spoiled child, who had had everything he wished for from his earliest days, and now, at the first disappointment in life, was turning pettish and angry. True enough so far, his every whim had been gratified, and perhaps this made him feel the more bitterly that this newly-awakened desire should be thwarted on every side.
Try what he would, all seemed against him—father, friends, even the object of his choice herself; and he needed no one to tell him that the greatest care was taken to prevent all interviews. That Laura had a great deal to do with it he was sure, with out Nelly’s confirmatory words. Max too might have some influence; but it was in vain that he thought—matters would only look more and more rugged on ahead; and at length, longing, in spite of his dislike to the meeting, for the evening to come, he cantered away.
“I only wish I were clever,” he muttered. “Some men would scheme a score of plans; but as for me, I understand horses and dogs, and that is about—”
Charley’s thoughts were directed the next moment into another channel; for turning a corner sharply, he came upon a family party from the Elms, consisting of Laura Bray and her two youngest sisters, with Max angrily stamping, clenched of fist and with his face distorted with rage.
“It’s all a confounded plot of yours, Laury—it is, bai Jove!” he screamed in an excited voice, the very counterpart of his mother’s.
“Indeed, indeed, Max, you wrong me,” she cried. “It was not—Hush! here’s Charley Vining.”