Next morning I proceeded to Herman Mordaunt's residence at the earliest hour the rules of society would allow. I found the family established in one of those Dutch edifices, of which Albany was mainly composed, and which stood a little removed from the street—having a tiny yard in front, with the stoop in the gable, and that gable towards the yard. The battlement walls of this house diminished towards the high apex of a very steep roof by steps, as we are all so much accustomed to see, and the whole was surmounted by an iron weathercock, that was perched on a rod of some elevation. It was always a matter of importance with the Dutch to know which way the wind blew; nor did it comport with their habits of minute accuracy, to trust to the usual indications of the feeling on the skin, the bending of branches, the flying of clouds, or the driving of smoke; but they must and would have the certainty of a machine, that was constructed expressly to let them know the fact. Smoke might err, but a weathercock would not!
No one was in the little parlour into which I was shown by the servant who admitted me to the house, and in whom I recognised Herman Mordaunt's principal male attendant, of the household in New York. How pleasantly did that little room appear to me, in the minute or two that I was left in it alone. There lay the very shawl that Anneke had on, the day I met her in the Pinkster Field; and a pair of gloves that it seemed to me no other hands but hers were small enough to wear, had been thrown on the shawl, carelessly, as one casts aside a thing of that sort, in a hurry. A dozen other articles were put here and there, that denoted the habits and presence of females of refinement. But the gloves most attracted my attention, and I must needs rise and examine them. It is true, these gloves might belong to Mary Wallace, for she, too, had a pretty little hand, but I fancied they belonged to Anneke. Under this impression, I raised them to my lips, and was actually pressing them there, with a good deal of romantic feeling, when a light footstep in the room told me I was not alone. Dropping the gloves, I turned and beheld Anneke herself. She was regarding me with an expression of countenance I did not then know how to interpret, and which I now hardly know how to describe. In the first place, her charming countenance was suffused with blushes, while her eyes were filled with an expression of softened interest, that caused my heart to beat so violently, that I did not know but it would escape by the channel of the throat. How near I was to declaring all I felt, at that moment; of throwing myself at the feet of the dear, dear creature, and of avowing how much and engrossingly she had filled both my waking and sleeping thoughts during the last year, and of beseeching her to bless the remainder of my days, by becoming my wife! Nothing prevented this sally, but the remark which Anneke made, the instant she had gracefully curtsied, in return to my confused and awkward bow, and which happened to be this:
“What do you find so much to admire in Miss Wallace's gloves?” asked the wilful girl, biting her lip, as I fancied, to suppress a smile, though her cheeks were still suffused, and her eyes continued to give forth that indescribable expression of bewitching softness. “It is a pair my father presented to her, and she wore them last evening in compliment to him.”
“I beg pardon, Miss Mordaunt—Miss Anneke—that is—I beg pardon. Is there not a very delightful odour about those gloves—that is, I was thinking so, and was endeavouring to ascertain what it might be by the scent.”
“It must be the lavender with which we young ladies are so coquettish as to sprinkle our gloves and handkerchiefs—or it may be musk. Mary is rather fond of musk, though I prefer lavender. But what an evening we had, Mr. Littlepage! and what an introduction you have had to Albany and most of all, what a master of ceremonies!”
“Do you then dislike Guert Ten Eyck as an acquaintance, Miss Anneke?”
“Far from it. It is quite impossible to dislike Guert; he is so manly; so ready to admit his own weaknesses; so sincere in all he does and says; so good natured; and, in short, so much that, were one his sister, she might wish him to be, and yet so much that a sister must regret.”
“I thought last evening that all the ladies felt an interest in him, notwithstanding the numberless wild and ill-judged things he does. Is he not a favourite with Miss Wallace?”
The quick, sensitive glance that Anneke gave me, said plainly enough that my question was indiscreet, and it was no sooner put than it was regretted. A shadow passed athwart the sweet face of my companion, and a moment of deep, and, as I fancied, of painful thought succeeded. Then a light broke over all, a smile illumined her features, after which a light girlish laugh came to show how active were the agents within, and how strong was the native tendency to happiness and humour.
“After all, Corny Littlepage,” said Anneke, turning her face towards me with an indescribable character of fun and feeling so blended in it, as fairly to puzzle me, “you must admit that your exploit in the hand-sled was sufficiently ridiculous to last a young man for some time!”