“Because they’re true,” returned the young lady: then turning to me, she continued, “Come away into the corner, and we’ll have a quiet hit. D’Arey, go find the back-gammon table, settle the men, and snuff the candles; it’s the only thing you’re good for.”
A sheep-faced young gentleman instantly obeyed the order; and Miss Flora Maginnis and I sate down tete-a-tete.
If ever there were two beings who differed from each other wide as the antipodes themselves, they were Flora aforesaid, and my absent mistress. I had endeavoured to imagine what “a clipper” was, according to the parlance of O’Boyle; but my fancy sketch fell infinitely short of the original. An hour glided pleasantly away; and when supper was announced, Miss Flora and I proceeded to the table, mutually pleased with each other.
I had written to Lucy immediately on my arrival at head quarters, and for several days awaited an answer to my epistle with all the impatience of a lover. At last, the long-expected letter came; and my heart throbbed wildly when I read the post-mark; I pressed the billet to my lips, muttered that quotation from Pope, which insinuates that letters were invented in hewen, and broke the seal. The “Dear Sir” commencement gave me a chill; and the conclusion, “Your’s, sincerely,” froze me to an icicle. Indeed, a colder composition never met a lover’s eye. It expressed gratitude for my sentiments of affection; spoke of the barrier that family and fortune interposed between us—followed that blow up with a disquisition on prudence and “proper pride”—declined all continuation of correspondence as irregular—and concluded with a belief, on her part, that “it would be better for both that the past should be forgotten.”
As I perused the letter, I found the colour waning on my cheek. Was this her constancy?—were these her sentiments? She who I thought had warmly reciprocated my love—she, whose whole heart I fancied mine for ever! Unconsciously my hand approached my breast; and ere I reached the cold conclusion of the letter, that ringlet, which a few minutes since a diamond would not have purchased, was torn from my bosom, and committed with that heartless billet which dispelled my dreams of lore, to the secret drawer, where brown and black lay quietly reposing. Fool that I was! I never suspected that a proud poor father had dictated every line. The hand was Lucy’s; but had I looked attentively at the paper, I would have discovered that it was blistered with her tears. Alas! that fact I never knew for years, and not until Lucy was another’s!
Every body knows, that the best preparatory state of mind a man can find himself in for falling in love with the first woman that he meets, is immediately after he has been piqued by the falsehood or indifference of another. My introduction to Miss Maginnis was therefore effected in the very nick of time—she seemed a godsend direct from Cupid.—Romeo-like, I changed from Rosalind to Juliet—commenced active operations against the heart of Flora, and fancied I could love her. We rode, and walked, and danced—ran one round over Breafy course—I was beaten by a neck; and on the following Sunday, Flora annihilated the devotions of half the congregation, by appearing at church in a lancer-cap, obtained “per mail” from Dublin, and, even by her enemies, pronounced “a little love.”
In this state of affairs an event occurred that brought matters to a crisis. A day never passed in which notes were not interchanged between me and Flora; and one fine morning, her maid was ushered in, and proved the bearer of a billet. As I fortunately preserved our correspondence, I can favour you, gentlemen, with faithful transcripts.
“Dear Pat,
“I hear you were drunk last night, and, in getting home found the street too narrow. What a humbug, to pass yourself upon people for a milk-sop! My aunt Packer will be married thirty years next Thursday; and as she annually recalls the memory of that misfortune, she gives, on the evening of that disastrous day, her customary hop. Will you drive me over? If you don’t, I’ll get across in the Parson’s rumble, and you may go to —————” There was here a hiatus in the manuscript; but a fancy sketch of “a gentleman in black,” with his tail under his arm, enabled me to guess my destination. To this affectionate appeal I thus responded:—
“Dear Flo.