“Yes—and the Tubleys, who are so proud of their Irish Member!” exclaimed the eldest Miss Matson. “Oh! ma, let us make up to the Greens and get as friendly with them as possible; so that we may be on visiting terms with them when we go back to London—and then we shall be introduced to their uncle, the Member.”
“By all means,” said Mrs. Matson, charmed with the suggestion. “I will persuade your papa to allow us to give a party next week, on purpose for the Greens.”
In the meantime Captain Phinnikin and Mr. Pink had proceeded somewhat rapidly along the Marine Parade, until they had reached the extremity, when they turned, and walked more slowly, so as to meet Charles Hatfield and Perdita.
“To-morrow, at this time,” said the infatuated young man, as the syren leant confidingly upon his arm, “we shall be far on our road to Paris: and within three days from this moment, my beloved one, you will be mine! Oh! I believe firmly that we were intended for each other—and therefore happiness awaits us!”
“To be with you, Charles, is happiness indeed,” returned Perdita, with that melting softness of tone which gave her words so exquisite a charm, and made every chord in her lover’s heart thrill with rapture: then, casting upon him a sweet glance which drank in his own, she said, “I am rejoiced that we have taken this decided step—for in London, I was so fearful that your relatives might adopt means to separate you from me!”
“No—that could not be, dearest Perdita,” he observed: “for I am of an age at which no parental despotism could be legally enforced; and I have acquainted you with every thing that has already passed between my father and myself. Were I a weak-minded boy, I should perhaps have yielded to his threats or to my mother’s entreaties: but I have chosen to act for myself and on my own responsibility—and I do not repent the decision.”
“And never—never shall you repent, my beloved Charles,” murmured Perdita, with no affectation of feeling, but under the influence of that passionate tenderness which she in reality experienced towards the young man. “And, oh! how delightful is it to be your companion in such a delicious evening walk as this—by the scarcely rippling sea—and at the hour when the sun is sinking to its ocean-bed!”
“Yes;—and while with you, my Perdita,” responded Charles, “I seem to feel as if we two were alone together—sole witnesses of the scene! I observe not the other loungers: I see only my Perdita—hear only her voice!”
At this moment his fair companion, to whom he was addressing those words of heart-felt tenderness, appeared to start violently; for his arm to which she clung was suddenly jerked by her hand with some degree of force. Charles instinctively raised his head, which had been bent partially towards her ear; and glancing straight before him, he beheld two officers staring most rudely, as he thought, at his well-beloved and beauteous Perdita.
“What means this insolence?” he exclaimed, in a tone of irritation.