Bressant nodded, and presently took some more of the beef.
"Have you seen Abbie yet, Mr. Bressant?" inquired Cornelia in a timid tone, which, however, was deprived of all melody by the effort to suit it to the young man's ears. But it was necessary to say something.
"Oh, no!" he replied, smiling at her in the pure good-nature of physical complacency, and noticing for the first time that she was an agreeable spectacle. He judged absolutely and primitively, never having had that experience of women which might have enabled him to make comparison the base of his opinion. "I came right up here from the depot. My trunk was sent to the boarding-house; it will hire a room for me, I suppose."
At this sally, Cornelia smiled very graciously, though ten minutes before she would have snubbed it promptly. She had had some experience with the young men of the village—easy victims—and had acquired a rather good opinion of her satirical powers. But Bressant was a peculiar case; his deafness enlisted her compassion and forbearance, and her own late rudeness made her gentle. Perhaps the young gentleman was not so far out of the way in failing to consider his infirmity a disadvantage.
Meanwhile, Professor Valeyon was swinging backward and forward, ever and anon pausing to take a bite or a sup, and eying the stem of the strawberry-dish, in deepest contemplation. Cornelia, who from a combination of causes, felt more embarrassed than ever in her remembrance, devoutly wished that he would rouse himself, and make some conversation. She did all she could, in the way of supplying the guest with eatables, and making little remarks upon them, to fill up awkward pauses; but she was conscious she was being stupid; and even when she thought of a good thing to say, the reflection that it must needs be shouted aloud made her pause until the available moment had gone by. It was some relief that Bressant ate well, and seemed in no way shy or cast down himself. There was a freshness and vivacity in his enjoyment of his supper which was pleasing to Cornelia for several reasons: it was evidently very far from being affected, was consequently indirectly complimentary to her, and showed a certain boyishness in him which contrasted very agreeably, or, as Cornelia would have said, "cunningly," with his mature and intellectual aspect. In fact, Bressant was in a particularly happy mood. The cool air and pleasant room, and the gratification of a healthy appetite, caused his senses to expand, and, as it were, sun themselves. Cornelia's beauty could not have been presented under more favorable auspices, especially as woman's loveliness had heretofore been an unturned page in the young man's life. True, it pleased him in the same way as, and probably not to a greater degree than, would the symmetrical elegance of a vase, or the tinted beauty of a flower; but he had not yet known the limitless additional charm given by life, variety, and emotion. Would he ever know it? or was he so profoundly ignorant of the matter as to run in danger of finding it out unexpectedly, and perhaps too late?
The strawberry pyramid sank and disappeared. Cornelia began anxiously to wonder what was to be done now. Bressant sat enjoying his sensations, and Professor Valeyon, who appeared to have arrived at some definite conclusion after his meditations, rolled up his napkin and shoved it into the ring, previous to setting it down with that peculiar tap which announced that the meal was over.
On leaving the table, Bressant sauntered out of the room and on to the balcony, with a disregard of what other people might intend, which caused Cornelia to recollect her first impression of him. Nevertheless, not knowing what else she could do, she followed, and found him leaning over the railing, and looking about him with serene enjoyment. The clouds had been mostly dispersed; a fresh air moved in the damp garden; and Cornelia was soon aware that the mosquitoes were abroad. Her muslin-covered arms and shoulders began to suffer.
Bressant raised himself at her approach, and stood with one hand against the railing, looking down upon her with a half-smile of interest and satisfaction, which made Cornelia feel not so much like a human being, as some rare natural curiosity which he was glad to have the opportunity of examining.
"You are one of the daughters?" said he, with the sudden scrutinizing contraction of the eyebrows that often accompanied his questions. "There are two, aren't there? Which one are you?"
"I'm Cornelia," replied she, provoked, as the words left her mouth, that she had not said "Miss Valeyon." But the question had surprised her out of her presence of mind, and the necessity of speaking loud, if nothing else, hindered her from making the correction.