Some twelve months before the present meeting, Colonel Thorpe made a sudden resolve to spend the winter in London; and fearing to leave this his only daughter out of his sight for any length of time, he determined to take her with him also. The season was a tolerably gay one; but the colonel, an austere man, though much in request at the houses of titled and wealthy friends, cared little for society, and constantly refused invitations both on behalf of himself and his daughter. Such a high pressure of circumspection could not last for ever. Receiving an earnest request from Lady Hardy—a friend of many years’ standing—that they would honour a fashionable entertainment with their presence, Colonel Thorpe somewhat relented, and meeting Amy’s wistful gaze with a smile which he intended to be severely pleasant, he told her to prepare herself to accompany him on the following Thursday. At this intelligence the young lady was naturally delighted; and even her severe parent condescended to relax and bring himself to converse about the forthcoming ball. This agreeable demeanour he sustained until about the middle of the festive evening, when, as if by magic, his spirits suddenly lowered to freezing temperature. He had observed that a well-favoured, handsome young gallant had danced three times with his daughter in the course of the evening. Now, the crusty old colonel did by no means approve of this, and was not aware that his daughter had more than once met the same young gallant since coming to London. In answer to inquiries which he made as to the unknown partner of his daughter, he learned that his name was Ainslie, that he was a subaltern in the Guards, and the only son of a widow lady of title, once wealthy, but now reduced in circumstances. His informant added, that though the young officer was not rich, he was of prepossessing manners—a piece of information which scarcely appeared to afford gratification to the master of Coombe Hall. Immediately upon receipt of this news the angry colonel sought out Miss Thorpe from among the dancers, and after bidding a hasty adieu to his hostess, drove away with his daughter from the house.
Colonel Thorpe’s temper was not improved when, on the day following the ball, he received a call from Ainslie; but in a short political conversation which ensued, the visitor—strangely enough—contrived to advance in his good graces considerably. Still, the colonel, who was habitually suspicious, did not encourage the young officer. He had only the doubtful satisfaction of knowing that the penniless son of Sir Henry Ainslie, deceased, was a suitor for his daughter’s hand.
‘Amy,’ he said to himself, ‘must return to Coombe Hall. The wiles of this dangerous young man can be kept at a safe distance there.’
But railways were as yet things of the future, and the weather became an unexpected ally in Ainslie’s favour, the colonel’s departure being thus delayed for fully a week. During this time Reginald contrived to see Miss Thorpe several times, as well as to ingratiate himself with her father, who listened to his visitor’s conversation and wit with a mingled feeling of approval and distrust. The time passed quickly; and when Reginald parted from Amy Thorpe it was with many protestations of eternal devotion, to which that young lady replied with equal warmth. Colonel Thorpe wished Ainslie a formal ‘Good-bye,’ and the lovers were separated from each other for a weary space of ten months.
The interval was not unfraught with change. Reginald had the good fortune to be raised in rank, and now entered upon his full grade of lieutenant. Since the departure of Amy Thorpe he had endeavoured to keep up a correspondence with her; but the age in which they lived, though practically a fast one, was slow enough in some respects, and the means of communication were so unsatisfactory, that long intervals elapsed between an interchange of letters.
At the close of October 1760, the tidings of King George II.’s death became known throughout the greater part of the kingdom; and following closely upon the spreading of this intelligence came a letter from Amy to Reginald, containing the joyful news that Colonel Thorpe was on his way to London to attend the opening of parliament by the new king, and that his daughter was coming with him. Ainslie, after the expiration of a few days, presented himself at Colonel Thorpe’s former apartments, where the first person he encountered was that worthy officer himself, stiff, irritable, and in a decidedly unpleasant temper. Their conversation commenced with a formal exchange of civilities, and Reginald seated himself on the chair which was pointed out to him, calm and unruffled in countenance, but with a heart which he had steeled and prepared for the worst.
Colonel Thorpe was glad that Lieutenant Ainslie had called, as he wished to have some serious conversation with him. There had been a—in fact there had been a correspondence kept up with his daughter, an interchange of letter-writing and—and that sort of thing, which must be discontinued.
‘Am I to understand, sir,’ said the young officer, with difficulty repressing his growing wrath—‘am I to understand that you wish me to resign all pretensions to Miss Thorpe’s hand?’
The colonel did not exactly say that; he said the correspondence must be discontinued for—for a time. If at some future date Lieutenant Ainslie could show satisfactory proofs that he would be able to maintain his daughter in a position of comfort and dignity consistent with that in which she had been brought up, he (Colonel Thorpe) might feel disposed to listen to any advances Lieutenant Ainslie thought proper to make. Till then, all interchange of sentiment must cease. That was all; Colonel Thorpe had nothing further to say.
Ere another week had passed, during which the lovers met but once, the colonel’s apartments were again vacant, and Reginald Ainslie was wondering at what remote period of his life he should again see Amy Thorpe. Poverty was the bane of the young soldier, and the monotonous round of barrack-life was by no means the royal road to wealth. Reginald, however, had for some time been meditating over a deep-laid purpose, the object of which was to recover an ancient property which his immediate ancestors, by their Jacobite proclivities, had forfeited. On obtaining leave of absence, therefore, shortly before Christmas, he set out for Fridswold, and made a series of excursions to Coombe Hall, to lay before his beloved Amy all his hopes and fears, and to receive from her encouragement in his momentous quest. But his proposed visit had been put a stop to by the colonel’s letter, and now this secret meeting in the arbour was the next expedient of the faithful pair.