Tales for Fifteen

by James Fenimore Cooper

As much experience as Delafield possessed in the trifling manoeuvres of managers, or perhaps in the manifestations of feelings that are exhibited by every-day people, he was an absolute novice in the emotions of a pure, simple, ingenuous female heart. He was alive to the compliment to his acknowledged good looks, conveyed in this speech, but he was not able to appreciate the single-heartedness that prompted it. Perhaps his handsome face was as much illuminated by the consciousness of this emotion as by the deeper feelings he actually experienced, while he replied,—

"I am well, or ill, as you decree, Miss Henley; it is impossible that you should live in the world, and be seen, be known as you are, and must have been seen and known, and not long since learned the power you possess over the happiness of hundreds."

Though Charlotte was simple, unsuspecting, pure, and extremely modest, she was far from dull—she was not now to learn the difference between the language of ordinary trifling and general compliment, and that to which she now listened, and which, however vague, was still so particular as to induce her to remain silent. The looks and manner of the youthful female, at that moment, would have been a study to those who love to dwell on the better and purer beings of creation. She was silent, as we have already remarked, because she could make no answer to a speech that either meant every thing or nothing. The slight tinge that usually was seated on her cheek spreading over its whole surface like the faintest glow of sunset blending, by mellow degrees, with the surrounding clouds, was heightened to richness, and even diffused itself like a reflection, across her polished forehead, because she believed she was about to listen to a declaration that her years and her education united to tell her was never to approach female ears without slightly trespassing on the delicacy of her sex. Her mild blue eyes, beaming with the glow on her face, rose and fell from the carpet to the countenance of Delafield, but chiefly dwelt in open charity, and possibly in anxiety, on his own. In fact, there was thrown around her whole air, such a touch of exquisite and shrinking delicacy, so blended with feeling benevolence, and even tender interest, that it was no wonder that a man, handsome to perfection, young, intelligent, and rich, mistook her feelings.

"Pardon me, Miss Henley," he cried, and the apology was unconsciously paid to the commanding purity and dignity of her air, "if I overstep the rules of decorum, and hasten to declare that which I know years of trial would hardly justify my saying; but your beauty, your grace, your—your——where shall I find words to express it?—your loveliness, yes, that means every thing—your loveliness has not been seen with impunity."

This might have done very well for a sudden and unprepared declaration; but being a little indefinite, it failed to extract a reply, his listener giving a respectful, and, at times, a rather embarrassing attention to what he was to add. After a short pause, the youth, who found words as he proceeded, and with whom, as with all others, the first speech was the most difficult, continued—

"I have known you but a short time, Miss Henley; but to see you once is to see you always. You smile, Miss Henley, but give me leave to hope that time and assiduity will enable me to bring you to such a state of feeling, that in some degree, you may know how to appreciate my sensations."

"If I smile, Mr. Delafield," said Charlotte in a low but distinct voice, "it is not at you, but at myself. I, who have been for seventeen years constantly with Charlotte Henley, find each day something new in her, not to admire, but to reprehend." She paused a moment, and then added, smiling most sweetly as she spoke, "I will not affect to misunderstand you, Mr. Delafield; your language is not very intelligible, but it is such that I am sure you would not use to me if you were not serious, and did not feel, or rather think you feel what you utter."

"Think I feel?" he echoed. "Don't I know it? Can I be mistaken in my own sentiments? I may be misled in yours—may have flattered myself with being able to accomplish that at some distant day, which your obduracy may deny me, but in my own feelings I cannot be mistaken."

"Not where they are so very new; nay, do not start so eagerly—where they must be so very new. Surely your fancy only leads you to say so much, and to-morrow, or next day, your fancy, unless encouraged by you to dwell on my unworthy self, will lead you elsewhere."

"Now, Miss Henley, what I most admire in your character is its lovely ingenuousness, its simplicity, its heart; and I will own I did not expect such an answer to a question put, like mine, in sincerity and truth."