“I consider you to be an angel of beauty!” exclaimed Charles, unable to restrain the raptures which hurried him on to this impassioned ejaculation.
“I was told before I came to London that the gentlemen of the great metropolis were very fond of paying silly young ladies vain and empty compliments,” said Perdita, looking with good-humoured archness at her companion, while her eyes beamed with wickedness and her bosom heaved visibly.
“Is it the first time that you have been assured of your beauty?” asked Charles, still carried away by an uncontroullable influence.
“No—not precisely the first,” responded Perdita, with a naiveté so admirably assumed that her companion believed it to be completely genuine. “There was a young gentleman—or rather a nobleman, but I must not mention his name—in the country, who offered me his hand;—and he paid me many very fine compliments.”
“And you accepted the proposal? you are engaged to him?” exclaimed Charles, with a strange fluttering of the heart.
“Neither the one nor the other,” answered Perdita. “I could not love him—and therefore I declined the honour. My mother was angry with me, and talked a great deal about the excellence of the match and so forth: but I was obstinate—yes, very obstinate, Mr. Hatfield,” she said archly; “for never—never,” she continued, her tone suddenly becoming earnest and her manner serious,—“never could I bestow my hand where I cannot likewise give my heart!”
“And you have resolved wisely, Miss Fitzhardinge!” exclaimed Charles. “Matrimony without sincere affection can afford no promise of happiness. But one so beautiful as yourself—impressed too with such sterling sentiments and harbouring such pure principles—oh, you will prove indeed a treasure to the man who is fortunate enough to secure your heart and hand!”
“Again you compliment me, Mr. Hatfield,” said Perdita, looking down and blushing,—for even her very blushes she could command at pleasure. “In reference, however, to the observation you have just made, I should remark that I have never yet met with one of your sex whom I could comprehend fully and who could understand me. I admire openness, candour and sincerity,—that generous frankness, too, which at once establishes friendship and dissipates cold formality. For I believe that the trammels of ceremonial politeness positively spoil the heart,—tutoring it to curb its enthusiasm where enthusiasm would be so natural! I know not how to express myself clearly; but what I mean to imply is this—that I am a believer in the possibility of friendship at first sight——”
“And of love at first sight also?” exclaimed Charles Hatfleld, in an impassioned tone.
“Yes—and of love at first sight also,” repeated Perdita, again hanging down her head—again commanding a deep blush—and likewise speaking in a low, melting tone of deep emotion, as she drew a long sigh.