27. CHAPTER XXVII.
A MODEL LOVER.
Mr. Lyttelton descended slowly from his curricle and
inclosed father Von Horn's fingers in his iron grasp—by
which excess of cordiality he may have intended to supply
the place of a smile: no such exhibition of gladness
appeared upon his rigid features. At the same moment
Nina appeared at the door.
Nina—but so metamorphosed, so wholly different, so
radiantly beautiful, with her fair, neatly-bound hair, her
tasteful costume, her tiny feet filling miraculous baby-slippers,
that she was scarcely recognizable. Her listless,
ill-humored air had changed to one of the greatest liveliness
and vivacity. Her eyes danced: her lips were
smiling: her whole manner was so altered that had Mr.
Huddleshingle been present no one can tell to what transports
of jealousy and ire he would have been driven.
“And how have you been, William—and did you have
a pleasant ride—and was the day warm—and did you
see any acquaintances in Alexandria—and did you gain
your cause in Winchester?—and—tell us all about it.”
These were some of the numerous, almost innumerable
questions which Nina poured forth upon the solemn
gentleman in black, who bore the infliction with much
equanimity. It is true he disapproved of such a style of
cross-examination on legal grounds, as calculated to embarass
the witness: but for once he relaxed in his professional
strictness.
He therefore informed Nina—whose affectionate salute
(that was the phrase then fashionable), he had received
with much apparent indifference—that his ride had been
a pleasant one; that the weather had been reasonably
pleasant, he thought he might even venture to say excellent
for traveling; that he had seen many friends in Alexandria;
that he had tried his case in Winchester, and
after a close contest got a verdict; and that he had, on
the whole, nothing to complain of.
“And now you want some supper after your ride, William,”
said Nina, affectionately, spite of her solemn lover's
indifferent manner, “you have not been to supper, of
course.”
“No matter,” said Mr. Lyttelton.
“But it does matter. Just wait, and you shall have
it in a few minutes—”
“Thank you, Nina; I must go home.”
“Stay by all means. Nina will be put to no trouble,”
said father Von Horn; “besides, daughter,” he added,
“Barry has not been to supper, and you must not neglect
him.”
“Oh, Barry can—” began Nina, indifferently; but
checking herself:
“Certainly it is no trouble, father,” she said; “in ten
minutes every thing would be ready. Come now, William,
remember you have been away for a week, nearly.”
“Well, Nina,” said Mr. Lyttelton, “I must go home
for a while; but I'll come back in half an hour.”
With which words he returned solemnly to his vehicle.
“Oh, by-the-by,” he said to the young girl, who was
at his elbow, “here are some small matters for you; silks
and things, I believe; I did not select them; I suppose
though, they are all right.”
And Mr. Lyttelton handed out a dozen large bundles
which had completely filled the bottom of the vehicle.
“Thank you, dear William,” said Nina gratefully, and
casting a timid glance at her grave admirer.
“It was no trouble,” he said.
And taking the reins, he placed his foot upon the step
of the carriage. A thought seemed suddenly to strike him.
“Nina,” said he, turning round with a smile which
somewhat relaxed his solemn physiognomy.
“William!”
“Come Nina, a kiss before I go. I love you very much,
Nina!”
And after this extraordinary speech, having received
the salute, Mr. William Lyttelton drove slowly away.
