University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.
HOW MISS SALLIANNA FELL IN LOVE WITH VERTY.

Verty stood for a moment gazing at the door through which
Redbud had disappeared, unable to speak or move. Astonishment,
compassion, love, distress, by turns filled his mind; and
standing there, on a fine October morning, the young man, with
the clear sunshine streaming on him joyfully, took his first lesson
in human distress—a knowledge which all must acquire at some
period of their lives, sooner or later. His mixture of emotions
may be easily explained. He was astonished at the extraordinary
change in Redbud's whole demeanor; he felt deep pity for
the sickness which she had pleaded as an excuse for leaving him.
Love and distress clasped hands in his agitated heart, as he threw
a backward glance over the short interview which they had just
held—and all these feelings mingling together, and struggling
each for the mastery, made the young man's bosom heave, his
forehead cloud over, and his lips shake with deep, melancholy
sighs.

Utterly unable to explain the coldness which Redbud had undoubtedly
exhibited, he could only suffer in silence.

Then, after some moments' thought, the idea occurred to him
that Miss Fanny—the smiling, obliging, the agreeable Miss
Fanny—might clear up the mystery, so he turned round toward
her; but as he did so, the young girl passed by him with stately
dignity, and requesting, in a cold tone, to be excused, as she was
going to attend to her friend, Miss Summers, sailed out of the
room and disappeared.

Verty looked after her with deeper astonishment than before.
Then everybody disliked him—everybody avoided him: no doubt
he had been guilty of some terrible fault toward Redbud, and
her friend knew it, and would not stay in his presence.

What could that fault be? Not his costume—not the attempt
he had made to intrude upon her privacy. Certainly Redbud
never would have punished him so cruelly for such trifling
things as these, conceding that they were distasteful to her.

What, then, could be the meaning of all this?

Just as he asked himself the question for the sixth time, there
appeared at the door of the apartment no less a personage than
Miss Sallianna, who, ambling into the room with that portion of
the head which we have more than once mentioned, and the
lackadaisical smile which was habitual with her, approached
Verty, and graciously extended her yellow hand.

The young man took the extended member, and made a bow.
Miss Sallianna received it with a still more gracious smile, and
asked Mr. Verty to be seated.

He shook his head.

“I must go away, ma'am,” he said, sadly; “Redbud has
quarrelled with me, and I cannot stay. Oh! what have I done
to cause this!”

And Verty's head sank upon his bosom, and his lips trembled.

Miss Sallianna gazed at him with a curious smile, and after a
moment's silence, said:

“Suppose you sit down for a minute, Mr. Verty, and tell me
all about this—this—highly intrinsic occurrence. You could
not repose your sorrows in a more sympathetic bosom than my
own.”

And subsiding gracefully upon the sofa, Miss Sallianna made
Verty sit by her, and even gently moved her fan before his face,
smiling and simpering.

Perhaps the reader may feel some surprise at the change in
Miss Sallianna's demeanor toward the young man, the fact of

whose existence she had scarcely noticed on the occasion of their
first meeting in the garden. The explanation will be neither
lengthy nor difficult. Miss Sallianna was one of those ladies
who have so profound an admiration for nature, beauty, love,
and everything elevated and ennobling, that they are fond of discussing
these topics with the opposite sex—exchanging ideas, and
comparing opinions, no doubt for the purpose of arriving at sound
conclusions upon these interesting subjects. If, in the course of
these conversations, the general discussion became particular and
personal—if, in a word, the gentleman was induced to regard the
lady as an example of the beauties they were talking about, in
nature, love, etc., Miss Sallianna did not complain, and even
seemed somewhat pleased thereof. Of course there would have
been no profit or entertainment in discussing these recondite
subjects with a savage such as Verty had appeared to be upon
their former interview, when, with his long, tangled hair, hunter's
garb, and old slouched hat, he resembled an inhabitant of the
backwoods—what could such a personage know of divine philosophy,
or what pleasure could a lady take in his society?—no
pleasure, evidently. But now that was all changed. The young
gentleman now presented a civilized appearance; he was plainly
becoming more cultivated, and his education, Miss Sallianna
argued, should not be neglected by his lady acquaintances. Who
wonders at such reasoning? Is this the only instance which has
ever been known? Do sentimental ladies of an uncertain age
always refuse to take charge of the growing hearts of innocent and
handsome youths, just becoming initiated in the mysteries of the
tender passion? Or do they not most willingly assume the
onerous duty of directing the naive instincts of such youthful
cavaliers into proper channels and toward worthy objects—even
occasionally, from their elevated regard, present themselves as
the said “worthy objects” for the youthful affection? Queenly
and most lovely dames of uncertain age, and tender instincts, it
is not the present chronicler who will so far forget his reputation
for gallantry, as to assert that “I should like to marry” is your
favorite madrigal.

Therefore let it be distinctly understood and remembered, as a
thing necessary and indispensable to the true comprehension of
this veracious history, that the beautiful Miss Sallianna was not
attracted by Verty's handsome dress, his fashionable coat, rosetted
shoes, well powdered hair, or embroidered waistcoat gently rubbing
against the spotless frill—that these things did not enter into
her mind when she resolved to attach the young man to her suit,
and turn his affection and “esteem” toward herself. By no
means;—she saw in him only a handsome young fellow, whose
education could not prosper under the supervision of such a mere
child as Redbud; and thus she found herself called upon to
superintend it in her proper person, and for that purpose now
designed to commence initiating the youthful cavalier into the
science of the heart without delay.

These few words may probably serve to explain the unusual
favor with which Miss Sallianna seemed to regard Verty—the
empressement with which she gently fanned his agitated brow—
the fascinating smile which she threw upon him, a smile which
seemed to say, “Come! confide your sorrows to a sympathizing
heart.”

Verty, preoccupied with his sad reflections, for some moments
remained silent. Miss Sallianna broke the pause by saying—

“You seem to be annoyed by something, Mr. Verty. Need
I repeat that in me you will find a friend of philosophic partiality
and undue influence to repose your confidential secrets
in?”

Verty sighed.

“Oh! that is a bad sign,” said the lady, simpering.

“What, ma'am?” asked Verty, raising his head.

“That sigh.”

“I don't feel very well.”

“In the body or the mind?”

“I suppose it's the mind, ma'am.”

“Don't call me ma'am--I am not so much your senior.
True, the various experiences I have extracted from the circumambient
universe render me somewhat more thoughtful, but my
heart is very young,” said Miss Sallianna, simpering, and slaying
Verty with her eyes.

“Yes, ma'am—I mean Miss Sallianna,” he said.

“Ah! that is better. Now let us converse about nature, my
friend—”

“If you could tell me why Redbud has—”

Verty stopped. He had an undeveloped idea that the subject
of nature and Redbud might not appear to have any connection
with each other in the mind of Miss Sallianna.

But that lady smiled.

“About Redbud?” she asked, with a languishing glance.

“Yes—Miss.”

“What of the dear child?—have you fallen out? You men
must not mind the follies of such children—and Reddy is a mere
child. I should not think she could appreciate you.”

Verty was silent; he did not know exactly what appreciate
meant, which may serve as a further proof of what we have
said above, in relation to the necessity which Miss Sallianna
felt she labored under, as a tender-hearted woman, to educate
Verty.

The lady seemed to understand from her companion's countenance,
that he did not exactly comprehend the signification of
her words; but as this had occurred on other occasions, and
with other persons, she felt no surprise at the circumstance, attributing
it, as was natural, to her own extreme cultivation and
philological proficiency. She therefore smiled, and still gently
agitating the fan before Verty, repeated:

“Have you and Redbud fallen out?”

“Yes,” said the young man.

“Concerning what?”

“I don't know—I mean Redbud has quarreled with me.”

“Indeed!”

Verty replied with a sigh.

“Come!” said Miss Sallianna, “make a confidant of me, and
confide your feelings to a heart which beats responsive to your
own.”

With which words the lady ogled Verty.