“H’m,” said Laura, “that is a matter of opinion. I do not profess to wear my heart upon my sleeve, but there is an article of the kind somewhere deep down, I daresay. What do I think about Mr. Hope? I think him very nice. He is well-informed, though he did not parade his knowledge. Understands the science of music, and plays with taste. I don’t know that I can say more about him at present.”
“What a prosaic list of qualities; it might have been read out of a book! But didn’t you like him a great deal?”
“How could I like any one a great deal the first day I met him? Do you think I resemble Miss Morton’s heroines, who meet a perfectly unknown young man, and in an hour have told him all their family affairs and inmost thoughts? That kind of transparent simplicity is not in my line.”
“But you do like him, Laura. Say you do really.”
“Of course I like a handsome, agreeable man who has been of the greatest use and benefit to the family, as I like any pleasant acquaintance. Further than that I decline to commit myself. And now let me go to sleep.”
“How you can go to sleep entirely astonishes me. Oh! wasn’t it a delightful dinner? I felt so nice. I am sure I looked the essence of propriety and countrified inexperience. Do you think he could discover that we had seen very little society, Laura?”
“If he was not a very unobservant man he might easily have made out so much, I should say; that is if he troubled himself to study us so deeply. What can it matter?”
It was not only on that memorable evening that Barrington Hope produced a favourable impression upon the youthful portion of the Stamford family. Mrs. Stamford was charmed with him. His manner was so easy, yet so deferential and so respectful to her and her daughters. Well-informed as to the European politics of the day, he inferentially, in an argument with Mr. Stamford, showed himself to be widely read. He was familiar with the latest songs, the very last waltz; he sang a duet with Laura, and even played an accompaniment which showed more than theoretical knowledge of the science of music.
When he made his adieux somewhat early in the evening, every voice was musical in his praise.
“He’s a delightful creature,” said Linda, “all my fancy painted him, and more. How different he is from most of the men one meets. So free from conceit, and yet he knows so much, doesn’t he? And what a good touch he has on the piano! But men always play better than we do when they play at all. When are we going to see him again?”