And so, in very truth, was it, and horribly ill-spelled, if that too, be a symptom of the tender passion. The letter, however, commenced, “My darling Evelyn,” and ended, “Yours for life.”
Now, let me ask you young ladies of sweet sixteen, would not your pretty little heads have been slightly turned, if you had for the first time in your lives, been thus addressed by a good-looking, rich young officer, with real moustaches? And this too, even though the orthography of the epistle might have been somewhat defective. My heroine, though full of intelligence, somewhat lacked that invaluable quality—plain, common sense. Nor was she in any way above the faults and weaknesses of her age and sex. Let not my readers then be surprised if she permitted her own charity, and the writer’s evident attachment, to “cover a multitude of (grammatical) sins.” One thing was self-evident from the tone of the gallant captain’s correspondence, namely: that he considered Evelyn as his fiancée, and wrote as an accepted suitor.
The letter was duly answered, and shortly after another made its appearance, which, to judge by its defective style, argued no diminution of the tender passion, for the lover’s head and hand evidently partook of the agitated state of his heart, always interpreting these signs as favorably as did our lovely heroine and her amiable mother. On handing the second of these interesting documents to his stepdaughter, the Rev. Mr. Dale expressed the wish for a few moments’ conversation with her in his study. So, immediately, after breakfast we bent our steps thither, for Evelyn, who dreaded above all things a tête-à-tête with the Vicar, had insisted on my accompanying her.
I was with some difficulty admitted into the sanctum. We seated ourselves and prepared for a sermon. Meanwhile I was secretly rejoicing in the idea that the captain’s attentions would surely be put an end to, on the plea of his being one of the “children of this world.”
“My dear Evelyn,” solemnly began the reverend gentleman, “I wish to know your exact position as regards your cousin.”
“I thought, sir, mama had informed you.”
“Yes, my dear, your mother mentioned to me very properly, that Travers had asked your hand, but she also added that no definite reply had been given to the young man. Has anything since occurred to alter your sentiments?”
“No sir; they are the same as before, or, rather, perhaps I ought to say”—turning very red and trembling visibly—“I—I——”
“Well, child,” said the Vicar, smiling, “you like him rather better, eh?”
“Oh, no sir,” said poor Evelyn, almost in tears. “Since I have read his letters I fear—indeed—I—”