University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.
AT ROSELAND, IN THE EVENING.

SEATED on the vine-embowered porch of the cottage,
with the pleasant airs of evening blowing from the
flowers their rich fragrant perfume, the inmates of Roseland
and their guests passed the time in very pleasant
eonverse.

From time to time Hoffland and Miss Lucy exchanged
confidential smiles, and on these occasions Mr. Jack
Denis, whose love-sharpened eyes lost nothing, felt very
unhappy. Indeed, throughout the whole evening this
gentleman displayed none of that alacrity of spirit which
usually characterized him; his whole manner, conversation,
and demeanor betraying unmistakable indications
of jealous dissatisfaction.

Lucy had always been very kind and gentle to him
before; and though her manner had not changed toward
him, still her evident preference for the society and conversation
of the student Hoffland caused him a bitter
pang. Denis sincerely loved the bright-faced young girl,
and no one who has not loved can comprehend the sinking
of the heart which preference for another occasions.
The last refinement of earthly torture is assuredly
jealousy—and Denis was beginning to suffer this torture.
More than once Lucy seemed to feel that she was
causing her lover pain; and then she would turn away
from Hoffland and gladden poor Denis with one of her

brilliant smiles, and with some indifferent word, nothing
in itself, but full of meaning from its tone. Then Hoffland
would laugh quietly to himself, and touching the
young girl's arm, call her attention to some beauty in
the waning sunset, some quiet grace of the landscape;
and Denis would sink again into gloom, and look at
Hoffland's handsome face and sigh.

Mowbray was reading in the little sitting-room, and
from time to time interchanged words with the party
through the window. Perhaps studying would be the
proper word; for it was a profound work upon politics
which Ernest Mowbray, with his vigorous and acute intellect,
was running through—grasping its strong points,
and throwing aside its fallacies. He needed occupation
of mind; in study alone could he escape from the crowding
thoughts which steeped his brow in its habitual
shadow of melancholy. He had lost a great hope, as he
had told Hoffland; and a man does not see the woman
whom he loves devotedly pass from him for ever without
a pang. He may be able to conceal his suffering, but
thenceforth he cannot be gay; human nature can only
control the heart to a certain point; we may be calm,
but the sunshine is all gone.

Thus the hours passed, with merry laughter from Hoffland
and Lucy, and very forced smiles on the part of
Denis. Mowbray observed his silence, and closing the
volume he was reading, came out and joined the talkers.

“What now?” he said, with his calm courtesy. “Ah,
you are speaking of the ball, Lucy?”

“Yes, Ernest; and you know you promised to take me.”

“Did you?” asked Hoffland; “I am afraid this is only
a ruse on cousin Lucy's part to get rid of me.”

“Are you not ashamed, sir, to charge me with untruth?”
said Lucy, nearly bursting into laughter.

“Untruth!” cried Hoffland; “did any body ever!
Why, 't is the commonest thing in the world with your
charming sex, Miss Lucy, to indulge in these little ruses.
There must be a real and a conventional code of morals;
and I hope you do n't pretend to say, that if a lady sends
word that she is gone out when a visitor calls, she is
guilty of deception?”

“I think she is,” said Lucy.

“Extraordinary doctrine!” cried Hoffland; “and so
Ernest has really engaged to go with you?”

“Yes, sir; it was my excuse to Mr. Denis, who very
kindly offered to be my escort.”

And Lucy gave Jack Denis a little smile which elevated
that gentleman into upper air.

“Well,” said Hoffland, “I suppose then I am to go
and find somebody else—a forlorn young man going to
find a lady to take care of him. Come, Miss Lucy, cannot
you recommend some one?”

“Let me see,” said Lucy, laughing gleefully; “what
acquaintances have you?”

“Very few; and I would not escort any of those simpering
little damsels usually seen at assemblies.”

“What description of damsel do you prefer?” asked
Lucy, smiling.

“A fine, spirited, amusing young lady like yourself,”
said Hoffland; “the merrier and more ridiculous the
better.”

“Ridiculous, indeed! Well, sir,” said Lucy mischievously,
“I think I have found the very one to suit
you.”

“Who is it, pray?”

“Miss Philippa——”

“Stop!” cried Hoffland. “I never could bear that
name. I am determined never to court, marry, or
even escort a Philippa. Dreadful name! And I
hope you won't mention this Miss Philippa Somebody
again!”

With which words Hoffland laughed.

“Very well,” said Lucy; “suppose you come and
amuse me at the ball—going thither alone?”

“Oh! myself and Mr. Denis will certainly pay our
respects to you, Miss Lucy. But do not expect me until
about twelve.”

Lucy smiled, and said:

“Do you think the ball will be handsome, Ernest?”

“I think so.”

“Well, now, I am going to enslave all hearts. I shall
wear my pink satin.”

“Ah!” laughed Mowbray; “that is very interesting
to myself and these gentlemen.”

“Well, sir,” said Lucy, pretending to be angry, “just
as you please; but you are a very unfeeling brother.
Is n't he, Mr. Hoffland?”

“A most unreasonable person, and a disgrace to our
sex,” said Hoffland. “To tell a young lady that the
manner in which she proposes appearing at a ball is uninteresting,
sounds like Ernest.”

Mowbray smiled; the pleasant banter of the boy
pleased him, and diverted his thoughts.

“But Ernest is not such a perfect ogre, Mr. Hoffland,”
said Lucy; “are you, Ernest? He is very kind, and is
going to spend all day to-morrow with me.”

Mowbray shook his head.

“Now, brother!” said Lucy; “you know you can.”

Mowbray hesitated.

“Won't you?”

“Well, yes, Lucy,” said Mowbray, smiling; “I can
refuse you nothing.”

“Good!” cried Hoffland, with the sonorous voice of a
man-at-arms: “when ladies once determine to have
their won way, it is nearly impossible to stope them; is it
not, Mr. Denis?”

“I will answer for Mr. Denis, and repel your assault,
sir,” said Lucy, smiling; “I think that there is nothing
very wrong in what I ask, and why then should I not
have my way?”

“Excellent!” cried Hoffland, with a well-satisfied expression,
and a glance of intelligence directed toward
Lucy. “I believe that we men may study all our
lives and break our heads with logic before we can
approach the acuteness of one of these ladies. Study
is nothing compared with natural instinct and genius!”

Denis rose with a sigh.

“You remind me, Mr. Hoffland,” he said, “that I
have a long chapter in Blackstone to study; and it is
already late.”

“And I also have my studies,” said Hoffland; “I
think I will return with you, Mr. Denis.”

“You came to stay, Charles! You shall both stay,”
said Mowbray, “and I will give you Blackstone's—”

“No, really, Ernest,” said Hoffland, with a business
air which made Lucy laugh.

“And indeed I must return,” said Denis, sighing.

“Ah, gentlemen, gentlemen!” said Mowbray, “you

pay a fashionable call. Why, Charles, you absolutely
promised to stay.”

“Yes, but I have changed my mind,” said the boy,
looking toward Lucy; “and if Mr. Denis will ride with
me in your curricle, or whatever it is, you might ride
his horse in, in the morning.”

“Very well,” said Mowbray.

“Willingly,” said Denis.

“Then it is all arranged; and I return. Do n't press
me, Ernest, my good fellow. When duty calls, every
man must be at his post. I can't stay.”

And Hoffland laughed.

In fifteen minutes the vehicle was brought round, and
the two young men rose.

Denis bowed with some constraint to Lucy; but she
would not see this expression, and holding out her hand
bade him good-bye with a smile which lighted his path
all the way back to town.

Hoffland shook hands with Lucy too; and a laughing
glance of free masonry passed between them.

Then, entering the vehicle, the two young men set
forth toward Williamsburg, over which a beautiful moon
was rising like a crimson cart-wheel. Ernest Mowbray
stood for a moment on the porch of the cottage following
the receding vehicle with his eyes. At last it disappeared—the
sound of the wheels was no longer heard,
and Mowbray entered the cottage.

“Strange!” he murmured, “that memory still haunts
me. What folly!”

And pressing his lips to Lucy's forehead, he retired
to his study.