In the meantime, he drank Madeira and laid deep schemes for a thorough repair of the crazy fabric of human nature.
II.--Marionetta
Mr. Glowry returned with the loss of his lawsuit, and found Scythrop in a mood most sympathetically tragic. His friends, whom we have mentioned, availed themselves of his return to pay him a simultaneous visit, and at the same time arrived Scythrop's friend and fellow-collegian, the Hon. Mr. Listless, a young gentleman devoured with a gloomy and misanthropical nil curo.
Mr. and Mrs. Hilary brought with them an orphan niece, Miss Marionetta Celestina O'Carroll, a blooming and accomplished young lady, who exhibited in her own character all the diversities of an April sky. Her hair was light brown, her eyes hazel, her features regular, and her person surpassingly graceful. She had some coquetry, and more caprice, liking and disliking almost in the same moment, and had not been three days in the abbey before she threw out all the lures of her beauty and accomplishments to make a prize of her cousin Scythrop's heart.
Scythrop's romantic dreams had given him many pure anticipated cognitions of combinations of beauty and intelligence, which, he had some misgivings, were not realised by Marionetta, but he soon became distractedly in love, which, when the lady perceived, she altered her tactics and assumed coldness and reserve. Scythrop was confounded, but, instead of falling at her feet begging explanation, he retreated to his tower, seated himself in the president's chair of his imaginary tribunal, summoned Marionetta with terrible formalities, frightened her out of her wits, disclosed himself, and clasped the beautiful penitent to his bosom.
While he was acting this reverie, his study door opened, and the real Marionetta appeared.
"For heaven's sake, Scythrop," said she, "what is the matter?"
"For heaven's sake, indeed!" said Scythrop, "for your sake, Marionetta, and you are my heaven! Distraction is the matter. I adore you, and your cruelty drives me mad!" He threw himself at her feet, and breathed a thousand vows in the most passionate language of romance.
With a very arch look, she said: "I prithee, deliver thyself like a man of the world." The levity of this quotation jarred so discordantly on the romantic inamorato that he sprang to his feet, and beat his forehead with his clenched fist. The young lady was terrified, and, taking his hand in hers, said in her tenderest tone: "What would you have, Scythrop?"
Scythrop was in heaven again.