The morning came. Charley and I met Mary at the front door and we entered together. “I am so excited,” said she. “It is all so like a real adventure.”
A few minutes afterwards Mrs. Carter begged me to go up and assist the Don down-stairs, if necessary. He walked down-stairs very well, however, and we entered the dining-room, where I expected to find the whole family, but the girls had not yet put in an appearance. Alice, it seems, had gotten the other girls into so hilarious a state by her mad drolleries—enacting scenes that were to take place between herself and the Don—that they had to remain some time in the upper chamber in order to resume control of their countenances; and her performances in the halls and on the stairways were such that they had to call a halt several times before they reached the dining-room door. We were all seated at the table, and breakfast had begun, when the door was partly opened, then nearly closed, then opened a little way again, while a faint rustling of female garments was the only sound that broke the stillness. Presently, Mary, followed by Lucy, popped into the room with a suddenness that suggested a vigorous push from some one in the rear, while their features, of necessity instantly composed, were in that state of unstable equilibrium which may be observed in the faces of boys when the teacher reappears in the school-room after a few moments’ absence. Alice followed, demure as a Quakeress.
The introductions over, and Alice and Lucy having thanked the Don for his gallant rescue of them from danger, the girls took their seats, Alice next the Don. It will be easily imagined that, under the peculiar circumstances of the case, no word, no gesture, no look of our new friend passed unobserved. No bride, coming among her husband’s relations, was ever more searchingly scrutinized. Naturally, we compared notes upon the first occasion that offered, and it was interesting to observe that, various as were the estimates placed upon our enigma, each of the ladies held, in the main, to her first impression. It is no secret, in fact, that if a woman sees a man passing in front of a window at which she is sitting, or hears him utter three sentences, the impression formed upon her mind is often next to ineradicable.
“I do not know,” said Mrs. Carter, “when I have seen a manner so elegant and distinguished. It shows the combined effect of gentle birth and much travel. How charming—and how rare nowadays—is that deference towards our sex that he manages to combine with perfect dignity and repose of manner! By the way, Mr. Whacker, did you not notice how subdued Alice was throughout breakfast? I have never seen her so quiet and demure.”
“Never mind,” said Alice, “I am feeling my way. Wait till I get a little better acquainted with him. I must say, however, that I don’t think our hero promises much in the way of fun. I doubt whether he would know a joke if he met one on the highway.”
“No,” said Mary, “his nature is too absorbed, too intense, for—”
“And his eyes too starry. Did you not observe, Mary, how they dilated when first they bended their light on the dish of stewed oysters?”
“Alice, I believe that if you could, you would jest at your own funeral.”
“No; at that pageant you may count on me as chief mourner.”
“Ob, Alice!” said Lucy, reprovingly.