“Emmie has got her pony,” he said. “My mother thinks it will do her a great deal of good to see how you ride, Miss Trevor.”
“Oh, but I never was considered to ride very well,” Lucy said.
“We think down here that whatever you do is done well,” said St. Clair, taking the very words out of Raymond’s mouth, with this difference, that Ray would have uttered them seriously, and would have broken down, whereas that fellow made a joke of it, and carried off the compliment with a laugh. “We are not much used to accomplished young ladies from town down here,” St. Clair added; “and whatever you do is a wonder to us. ‘When you speak we’d have you do so ever; when you sing we’d have you buy and sell so, so give alms—’”
From this it will be seen that Mr. Frank St. Clair was possessed of some of the graces of letters. But the young persons on either side of him opened their eyes. Ray had a suspicion that there was some sort of play-acting in it; but Lucy was simply amazed that any one should speak of her singing when she could not sing at all.
“Indeed,” she said, seriously, “I do not know a note. I never had a voice, and what was the use of having lessons?” which simple answer, though it made him laugh, entirely disconcerted St. Clair, and reduced him almost to the level of Raymond, who had now got one hand into his pocket and felt more comfortable and at his ease. It was thus that Ray was left master of the field, somewhat to his own surprise, but at the same time much to his gratification, too.
“I say, what a queer fellow that is,” Raymond said; “we all want to know about him. If he’s a barrister, as they say, why isn’t he at his chambers, or on circuit, or something? To be sure it’s the ‘Long’ just now; but he seems to be always here.”
“He has overworked himself; he is not able to do anything,” said Lucy with great sympathy, looking out from the window with a grave face as he went out through the big gate-way and crossed the road. When he had reached the edge of the common he looked back, and seeing her, took off his hat. It gave St. Clair a glow of satisfaction to see Lucy looking after him. He went on with a lighter step, and, if possible, a broader chest than ever.
“By Jove! isn’t he fat?” said Raymond, by Lucy’s side; and Lucy, full of sympathy as she was, could not help remarking the breadth of shadow which moved with him across the sunshine. She laughed in spite of herself. The observation was not witty, but Raymond was put into such high spirits by the laugh he elicited that he burst forth into scintillations of still more unquestionable wit. “That is because they pet him so at Mrs. Stone’s. Ladies always do pet one. I should like to know where he’d find a fly-horse up to his weight. Let us ask him to the picnic, Miss Trevor, and borrow a beast for him from the brewer. One elephant upon another,” said Ray.
But Lucy’s amusement did not last through so long an address. She ended by a sigh, looking after him sympathetically. “I wish one could do everything one wished!” she said.
“Ah!” Raymond echoed with a sigh. “But you can, I should think, pretty near. I wish I could do any one thing I wished,” the young man added, ruefully.