“Miles Wallingford!” she said, as I advanced to shake the offered hand, and as soon as I was near enough to permit her to speak without attracting too much attention—“you arrived, and we knew nothing of it!”
It was plain Rupert had said nothing of having seen me, or of our interview in the street. He seemed a little ashamed, and leaned forward to say—
“I declare I forgot to mention, Lucy, that I met Captain Wallingford as I was going to join the Colonel and Miss Merton. Oh! we have had a long talk together, and it will save you a history of past events.”
“I may, nevertheless, say,” I rejoined, “how happy I am to see Miss Hardinge looking so well, and to be able to pay my compliments to my old passengers.”
Of course I shook hands with the Major and Emily, bowed to Drewett, was named to his mother, and was invited to enter the box, as it was not quite in rule to be conversing between the pit and the front rows. I forgot my prudent resolutions, and was behind Lucy in three minutes. Andrew Drewett had the civility to offer me his place, though it was with an air that said plain enough “what do I care for him—he is a ship-master, and I am a man of fashion and fortune, and can resume my seat at any moment, while the poor fellow can only catch his chances, as he occasionally comes into port.” At least, I fancied his manner said something like this.
“Thank you, Mr. Drewett,” said Lucy, in her sweetest manner. “Mr. Wallingford and I are very, very old friends,—you know he is Grace's brother, and you have been at Clawbonny”—Drewett bowed, civilly enough—“and I have a thousand things to say to him. So, Miles, take this seat, and let me hear all about your voyage.”
As half the audience went away as soon as the tragedy ended, the second seat of the box was vacated, and the other gentlemen getting on it, to stretch their limbs, I had abundance of room to sit at Lucy's side, half facing her, at the same time. As she insisted on hearing my story, before we proceeded to anything else, I was obliged to gratify her.
“By the way, Major Merton,” I cried, as the tale was closed, “an old friend of yours, Moses Marble by name, has come to life again, and is at this moment in New York.”
I then related the manner in which I had fallen in with my old mate. This was a most unfortunate self-interruption for me, giving the Major a fair opportunity for cutting into the conversation. The orchestra, moreover, giving notice that the curtain would soon rise for the after-piece, the old gentleman soon got me into the lobby to hear the particulars. I was supremely vexed, and I thought Lucy appeared sorry; but there was no help for it, and then we could not converse while the piece was going on.
“I suppose you care little for this silly farce,” observed the Major, looking in at one of the windows, after I had gone over Marble's affair in detail. “If not, we will continue our walk, and wait for the ladies to come out. Drewett and Hardinge will take good care of them.”