9. CHAPTER IX.
Elle ne manque jamais de saisir promptement
L'apparente lueur du moindre attachement,
D'en semer la nouvelle avec beaucoup de joie, —
Le Tartufe.
Among Morton's acquaintance was a certain Miss Blanche
Blondel. They had been schoolmates when children; and
as, at a later date, Miss Blanche had been fond of making
long visits to a friend in Cambridge, during term time, Morton,
in common with many others, had a college acquaintance
with her, so that they were now on a footing of easy intercourse.
Not that he liked her. On the contrary, she had
inspired him with a very emphatic aversion; but being rather
a skirmisher on the outposts of society, than enrolled in the
main battalion, she was anxious to make the most of the acquaintance
she had. She had the eyes of an Argus, and was
as sly, smooth, watchful, and rusée as a tortoise shell cat;
wonderfully dexterous at finding or making gossip, and unwearied
in sowing it, broadcast, to the right and left.
One evening Morton was at a ball, crowded to the verge
of suffocation. At length he found himself in a corner from
which there was no retreat, while the stately proportions
of Mrs. Frederic Goldenberg barred his onward progress.
But when that distinguished lady chanced to move aside, she
revealed the countenance of Miss Blondel, beaming on him
like the moon after an eclipse. She nodded and smiled.
There was no escape. Morton smiled hypocritically, and
said, “Good evening.” Blanche, as usual, was eager for conversation,
and, after a few commonplaces, she said, turning up
her eyes at him with an arch expression, —
“I have a piece of news to tell you, Mr. Morton.”
“Ah!” replied Morton, expecting something disagreeable.
“A piece of news that you will be charmed to hear.”
“Indeed.”
“Why, how cold you are! And I know that, in your
heart, you are burning to hear it.”
“If you think so, you are determined to give my patience
a hard schooling.”
“Well, I will not tantalize you any more. Miss Edith
Leslie sailed from Liverpool for home last Wednesday.”
“Ah!”
“How cold you are again! Are you not glad to
hear it?”
“Certainly — all her friends will be glad to hear it.”
“Upon my word, Mr. Morton, you are worse and worse.
When a gentleman dances twice with a young lady on class
day, and twice at Mrs. Fanfaron's ball, and joins her in the
street besides, has she not a right to feel hurt when he hears
with such profound indifference of her coming home after a
year's absence?”
Morton could hardly restrain the extremity of his distaste
and impatience.
“Miss Leslie, I imagine, would spend very little thought
upon the matter.” And he hastened, first to change the conversation,
and then to close it altogether.
Having escaped from his fair informant, he remained divided
between pleasure at the tidings, and annoyance at the
manner in which they had been told.
In a few days Miss Leslie arrived. Her beauty had matured
during her absence. She was conspicuously and brilliantly
handsome, and was admired accordingly, — a fact which,
though she could not but be conscious of it, seemed to affect
her very little. Morton found her but slightly changed, with
the same polished and quiet frankness, the same lively conversation,
not without a tinge of sarcasm, and the same enthusiasm
of character, betraying itself by an earnestness of manner,
and never by any extravagance of expression. He had
many opportunities of seeing her, Miss Blanche Blondel
being but rarely present, and, in his growing admiration of
her, the charms of his unbridled cousin faded more and more
from his memory.
