26. CHAPTER XXVI.
THE LAST INTERVIEW—BUT ONE—BETWEEN NINA AND HANS
HUDDLESHINGLE.
It can not be said that Nina received Mr. Huddleshingle
in a very flattering manner; the original pout came
back in its full force, as she returned a distant bow to his
phlegmatic salute.
“Welcome, Hans,” said father Von Horn, “what
news?”
“Nothing that I have heard, sir,” said Mr. Huddleshingle.
“Miss Nina, I am glad to see you looking so well
and happy this fine evening.”
“Thank you, sir, I am very well.”
“You are looking better than I ever saw you.”
“I am glad to hear it, sir.”
“To be sure,” continued Mr. Huddleshingle, with a
slight tremor in his voice which excited Nina's astonishment,
so phlegmatically self-possessed was her visitor on
ordinary occasions, “to be sure, it is nothing more than
I might look for—health and happy looks I mean—on the
eve of your marriage.”
Nine bowed coldly.
“It's a very agreeable time generally,” said her visitor.
“Agreeable, sir? I do not understand.”
“I thought I had a right to think so,” said Mr. Huddleshingle,
“having seen so many couples married. Ladies
generally look in good spirits on the day before their marrying.”
“Do they?” asked Nina, with intense disdain—so
intense that her unlucky admirer almost ground his
teeth.
“I think they generally do,” he replied moodily, “and
I suppose Miss Nina will be looking as bright as a—as a
—flower, this time day after to-morrow. Some will not
feel so pleasant as she will, I know though:—but every
young lady has a right to please herself, and nobody
ought to say her nay.”
What it cost Mr. Huddleshingle to utter this speech,
his agitated voice, and heightened color indicated.
Father Von Horn came to divert the threatened storm,
by laughingly slapping the young German on the shoulder,
and saying:
“That's right, Hans! always leave the choice to them.
I should, if I had fifty daughters: my father, old Courtlandt
Von Horn, as you call him yonder, taught me that
much.”
Hans almost started.
Nina glancing sideways at him, was conscious that
while he ostensibly spoke with his eyes fixed on her, his
gaze wandered to the portrait, and his eyes almost blazed.
Misunderstanding his agitation, and attributing it to disappointment—for
she knew very well Mr. Hans Huddleshingle's
feelings toward herself—Nina experienced a
sentiment of pity for her unhappy admirer.
“What a very beautiful evening it is, Mr. Hans,” she
said kindly, “look at the sunset.”
“Yes—yes, beautiful,” said Mr. Huddleshingle starting
and blushing: this kind speech had nearly changed his
purpose. But an unlucky incident just then occurred
which had much effect upon after events.
This incident was the appearance of Mr. William Lyttelton
at the end of the street, leisurely approaching in
his old worn out curricle, in which he was accustomed to
travel the circuit.
Nina jumped up, clapping her hands and crying, “Oh,
father—there he is—back already!” and without any
apology to Mr. Huddleshingle she ran into the house to
smooth her disordered dress and hair, before meeting her
solemn lover.
Mr. Huddleshingle looked once at the approaching
vehicle, ground his teeth audibly, and bidding father
Von Horn good-evening, went away, drawing in his
breath, and clenching his hands just as Mr. William
Lyttelton solemnly checked his steed before the door.
His resolution was taken—fixed.
