Thus they chatted till they reached Clara’s home. As he was taking his leave, Xerxes said in an earnest, appealing tone:
“If you will allow me to call occasionally, it would be a great favor, and enable me to kill at least some of the time that hangs so heavily upon my hands?”
“Certainly: I would be pleased to have you call, for I’m frequently afflicted with dreadful ennui myself,” was the imprudent permission of this betrothed young lady. When they separated, Clara said to herself:
“What a pleasant man he is. I do believe he is more entertaining than Ernest, who, with his religion and his great education, is so solemn. He doesn’t act like a young man at all. But he is so smart, and I can always be proud of him. Besides, papa has so much confidence in him. But I do wish he were just a little more like Mr. Comston.”
And Xerxes thought as he went away:
“She is very beautiful. This, with her thousands, makes her a prize worth winning. She has not yet mentioned the name of that religious lawyer. Look sharp, my zealous friend! if you don’t mind, I’ll play you a trick yet. You may be engaged to her, but ‘there’s many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip.’”
And here we leave them in darkness.
The next evening Ernest called again, and found Clara in the parlor. She had slept till noon.
“I hope you are feeling well after your last evening’s dissipation,” he said pleasantly, as he seated himself.
“I never felt better,” she answered. “I believe the exercise was an advantage to me. I don’t see why you should call it dissipation.”