The remark already made, as to Mrs. Blake's blind unsuspicion, held good in regard to Colonel Cleeve and his wife. They had likewise taken a fancy to the attractive young lieutenant and were never backward in welcoming him to their house. And yet they never glanced at Lucy's interests in the matter; they never supposed that she likewise could be awake to the same attractions; or that her attractions had charms for the lieutenant. How frequent these cases of blindness occur in the world, let the world answer. Colonel and Mrs. Cleeve would as soon have suspected that Lucy was falling in love with the parish clerk. And why? Because the notion that any one, so much beneath them in family and position as Mr. Andinnian, should aspire to her, or that she could stoop to think of him, never would have entered into their exclusive imaginations, unless put there.
Mrs. Cleeve, dismayed, sick, frightened, but always mild and gentle, begged of Lucy to say that it was a cruel mistake; and that there was "nothing" between her and Mr. Andinnian. Lucy, amidst her blinding tears, answered that nothing whatever had been spoken between them. But she was too truthful, too honest, to deny the implication that there existed love: Colonel Cleeve sent for Mr. Andinnian.
The young man was just coming in from a full-dress parade when the note arrived. It was a peremptory one. He walked up at once, not staying to put off his regimentals. Colonel Cleeve, looking the thorough gentleman he was, and wearing his customary blue frock-coat with a white cambric frill at his breast, met him at the door of his library. He was short and slight, and had mild blue eyes. His white hair was cut nearly close, and his forehead and head were so fair that at first sight it gave him the appearance of being powdered. The servant closed the door upon them.
That Karl Andinnian was, as the phrase runs, "taken to" by the plain questioning of the Colonel cannot be denied. It was plunged into without preface. "Is it true that there is an attachment between you and my daughter? Is it true, sir, that you have been making love to her?"
For a short while Karl was silent. The Colonel saw his embarrassment. It was only the momentary embarrassment of surprise, and, perhaps, of vexation: but Karl, guileless and strictly honourable, never thought of not meeting the matter with perfect truth.
"That there does exist affection between me and your daughter, sir, I cannot deny," he replied with diffidence. "At least, I can answer for myself--that the truest and tenderest love man is, or, as I believe, can be, capable of I feel for her. As to making love to her, I have not done it consciously. But--we have been a great deal together; and I fear Miss Cleeve must have read my heart, as--as----"
"As what, Mr. Andinnian?" was the stern question.
"As I have read hers, I was going to presume to say," replied Karl, his voice and eyes alike drooping.
Colonel Cleeve felt confounded. He would have called this the very height of impudence, but the young man standing before him was so indisputably refined, so modest, and spoke as though he were grieved to the heart.
"And, pray, what could you have promised yourself by thus presuming to love my daughter?"