“With great pleasure,” I answered, in society’s stock phraseology. With the “greatest” pleasure, I might have said, as I could almost have jumped for joy. Just fancy! all that I had longed for was accorded in a moment. My good fairy must undoubtedly have been hovering about the vicarage premises that day; and I strongly suspect my good fairy in this instance, as was the case also in many other circumstances of my life, being none other than my very unfairylike old friend, little Miss Pimpernell, the vicar’s kind-hearted sister.
Did I not look forward to Wednesday evening? Did I not, when the time for me to dress at last came round after an excruciatingly long interval, bestow the most elaborate and unheard-of pains on my toilet, almost rivalling Horner’s generally unimpeachable “get up”? Did I not proceed in the utmost joy and gladness towards the habitation of my darling?
I should rather think I did!
And yet, when I crossed the threshold of Miss Clyde’s house, I was seized with a sudden vague impression of uneasiness. I felt a, to me, singular sensation of nervousness, shyness, “mauvais honte”—just as if a cold key had been put down my back—for which I was at a loss to account. Those who know me say that bashfulness is one of the least of my virtues; and, I do not think that I am constitutionally timid—so why this feeling? Was it not a foreboding of evil? I believe it was, for everything went wrong with me that night, instead of my having a surfeit of pleasure, as I had sanguinely expected.
“Hope told a flattering tale.” My good fairy deceived me. My unpropitious star was again in the ascendant.
In fact, my bad genius reigned supreme, in spite of such counteracting influences as my being at last admitted to Min’s home and permitted to watch her gliding movements about the room, hear her liquid voice, catch the bright looks from her glancing grey eyes, speak to her, smile with her, adore her.
Yes, in spite of all this, my bad influence reigned supreme; and, I’m afraid, something wrong must have been done at my baptism to disgust my better genii.
In the first place, I arrived too soon, which was a calamity in itself. There is always pardon for one who goes late to an evening party—nay, it often enhances his reputation. Absolution may even be extended to the calculating individual who ravenously times his arrival by the supper hour; but, for a simple-minded person, unaccustomed to the usages of polite society, to believe in the invariability of fixed appointments and, taking an invitation au pied de la lettre, make his appearance a full hour before any other guest would dare to “turn up,” from the fear of being thought unfashionable, is simply monstrous! His behaviour is perfectly inexcusable; and, as a punishment, he should in future be compelled for a certain time to dine at our Saxon forefathers’ early hour, and go to bed at the sound of the curfew bell instituted by their Norman conquerors—that is how I would teach him manners!
I committed this grievous fault on the present occasion. I had been so anxious to get there in good time and not miss a minute of Min’s charming company, that, like our friend Paddy who ate his breakfast over night in order to save time in the morning, I overdid it, arriving there too early. I saw this at once from Mrs Clyde’s face when I was announced, the unhappy premier of all the coming guests.
Perhaps it was only my fancy, as I’m extremely sensitive on such points, for she received me courteously enough, pressing the welcoming cup of coffee and hospitable muffin in an adjoining ante-room on my notice; but, I thought I could perceive, below the veneer of social civility, a sort of “how-tiresome-of-you-to-come-before-anybody-else” look in her eyes, which made me extremely small in my own estimation.