"Are you, darling? I wish I could help you. Is it about Cyril Graham?"
"Yes!" with a tremendous sigh. "I am afraid papa, and I am sure mamma, will never consent. I know poor dear Cyril is not rich, but then he is so clever, he will soon make himself known. But if that tiresome Fred Wilmot should propose, I know they will want me to accept him." (There is one thing, I never, never will!) "I do snub him as much as ever I can, but he is such a puppy, I believe he thinks I am in love with him—as if Cyril, were not worth twenty such as he, for all he is the owner of Wilmot Park!"
Very pleasant this was! What a fool I must have made of myself to Mary Aspeden, and how nice it was to hear one's self called "a puppy!"
"Of course, dear," resumed Florence, "as you love Cyril, it is impossible for you to love any one ever again; but I do not think Mr. Wilmot a puppy. He is conceited, to be sure, but I do not believe he would be so much liked by—by those who are his friends, if he were not rather nice. Come, dear, cheer up. I am sure uncle Aspeden is too kind not to let you marry Cyril when he knows how much you love one another. I will talk to him, Mary dear, and bring him round, see if I do not! But—but—will you think me very selfish if I tell you"—(a long pause)—"he has asked me—I mean—he wishes—he told me—he says he does love me!"
"Who, darling? Let me think—Lord Athum?—Mr. Grant?"
"No, Mary—Drummond—that is, Captain Fane—he said——Oh, Mary, I am so happy!"
At this juncture it occurred suddenly to me that I was playing the part of a listener. (But may not much be forgiven a man who has heard himself called "a puppy"?) So I moved away, leaving the fair Florence to her blushes and her happiness, unshared by any but her friend. Between my astonishment at Fane and my indignation at Mary, I was fairly bewildered. Fane actually had proposed! He, the Honorable Drummond Fane, who had always declaimed against matrimony—who had been proof-hardened against half the best matches in the country—that desperate flirt who we thought would never fall in love, to have tumbled in headlong like this!
Well, there was some satisfaction, I would chaff him delightfully about it; and I was really glad, for if Florence had given her heart to Fane, she was not the sort of girl to forget, nor he the sort of man to be forgotten, in a hurry. But in what an awfully foolish light I must have appeared to Mary Aspeden! There was one thing, she would never know I had overheard her. I would get leave, and go off somewhere—I would marry the first pretty girl I met with—she should not think I cared for her. No, I would go on flirting as if nothing had happened, and then announce, in a natural manner, that I was going into the Highlands, and then she would be the one to feel small, as she had made so very sure of my proposal. And yet, if I went away, that was the thing to please her. Hang it! I did not know what to do! My vanity was most considerably touched, though my heart was not; but after cooling down a little, I saw how foolishly I should look if I behaved otherwise than quietly and naturally, and that after all that would be the best way to make Mary reverse her judgment.
So, when I met her again, which was not until we were going to return, I offered her my arm to the boat where Fane and his belle fiancée were sitting, looking most absurdly happy; and the idea of my adamantine friend being actually caught seemed so ridiculous, that it almost restored me to my good humor, which, sooth to say, the appellation of "puppy" had somewhat disturbed.
And so the moon rose and shed her silver light over the young lady who had sentimentalized upon her, and a romantic cornet produced a concertina, and sent forth dulcet strains into the evening air, and Florence and her captain talked away in whispers, and Mary Aspeden sat with tears in her eyes, thinking, I suppose, of "Cyril" and I mused on my "puppyism;" and thus, wrapped each in our own little sphere, we floated down the river to Woodlands, and, it being late, with many a soft good night, and many a gentle "Au revoir," we parted, and Mr. Aspeden's castle picnic was over!