The Youth of Jefferson Part 47

Mowbray caught the infectious mirth of the young girl, and smiled.

Poor Mowbray! where were all his mighty resolutions--his fair promises--his determination to remain an iceberg in presence of this haughty young girl? He was falling more deeply in love with her every moment.

"You are very severe upon the fine gentlemen," he said; "I think your picture is the exception."

"No, no! the rule! the rule!" she went on laughing. "Just look at them yonder. See how they smile and simper, and press their hands to their hearts, and daintily arrange their drop curls! I would as soon be loved by a lay-figure!"

And Philippa burst into a fit of merry laughter.

"Look!" she said; "see that ridiculous young gentleman near the door, with the velvet breast-knot--think of a velvet breast-knot! See how he daintily helps himself to snuff from a box with a picture of Madame Pompadour, or some celebrated lady, upon the lid; and see his jewelled hand, his simpering face, his languid air, his affected drawl as he murmurs, 'Ah--yes--madam--very--warm--but a charming--spectacle.' On my word! I would always provide myself with a bottle of _sal volatile_ when such gentlemen came to see me!"

Mowbray found himself growing positively happy. Not only were his spirits raised by the young girl's merry and good-humored conversation, but every word which she uttered made his heart thrill more and more. All her discourse, all her satire upon the b.u.t.terflies of the ball-room, had originated in the discussion of what character was proper for a lover. She scouted the idea of the love of one of these idlers attracting for a moment the regard of an intelligent woman: then was it not a just conclusion, that she looked for character, and dignity, and activity? She pointed to his own opposite, in grotesque colors, and laughed at her picture: then did she not find something to like in himself? Could she ever love him?

And Mowbray's cheek flushed--his strong frame was agitated.

"The amusing part of all this is," said Philippa, laughing, "that these gentlemen think their charms irresistible. Now, there is my cousin Charles--you know him, I believe."

"Charles----?"

"Charles Hoffland."

"Charles, your cousin!" cried Mowbray; "it is impossible!"

"Why, what is impossible in the fact? Possible? Of course it is possible!"

And Philippa laughed again more merrily than before.

"Your cousin!" repeated Mowbray; "why, Charles is one of my best friends."

"That is very proper, sir; then, you have two friends in the family."

And Philippa gave her cavalier an enchanting smile.

"Charles is a very excellent young man," she laughed; "and I am sure loves me deeply, but then any one can see he loves himself extravagantly."

"Is it possible! But excuse me," said Mowbray, seeing that his astonishment annoyed his companion; "he was to be here to-night."

"Has he arrived?" said Philippa, looking round with her daring smile.

"I do not see him."

"Tell me when he comes," she said, shaking with laughter; "he's a sad fellow, and I must lecture him."

Mowbray looked at her.

"Strange that I did not see that you were related," he said.

"Very strange."

"He resembles you strongly."

"Yes."

"But has light hair."

"Has he?"

"And is smaller, I verily believe."

"No, I believe our height is just the same. Has he attended to his studies?"

Mowbray smiled and shook his head.

"Not in a way to injure his health, I fear."

"Lazy fellow! I will never marry him."

"He is then a suitor of yours, madam? I was not aware of the fact--and request you to pardon my criticism."

"There you are a.s.suming your grand air again," said Philippa, laughing; "please leave it at home when you come to see me. Ah! you smile again--that pleases me. What did you ask? 'Was Charles my suitor--did he love me?' Yes, I am convinced that he loves me devotedly, as deeply as a man can love any thing--as much, that is to say, as he loves himself!"

And the young girl burst into another fit of laughter, and positively shook with merriment.

"Did you become well acquainted with him?" she asked, after a pause; "Charles is not stiff--too free and easy, I fear, and I am sure you--liked him."

"Indeed, I did," said Mowbray; "he was a great consolation to me, and I always thought there was something strangely familiar in his face.

Singular that I never observed how closely he resembled you."

"That was because you did not think of me very frequently."

Mowbray colored.

"I thought of you too often, I fear," he said in a low tone.

"And never came to see me--that is a probable tale," she said, coloring also, and glancing with a mixture of mirth and timidity at him.

Their eyes met;--those eloquent pleaders said much in that second.

"I have suffered much," he said; "my heart is not very strong--I was deceived--I could not----"

And Mowbray would have said something still more significant of his feelings, but for his companion's presence of mind. She observed, with womanly tact, that a number of eyes were fixed upon them, and adroitly diverted the conversation from the dangerous direction it was taking.

"I do not see Charles," she said, laughing and blus.h.i.+ng; "did you not say he promised to be here?"

"Yes," murmured Mowbray.

"He's a great idler, but I love him very much," she said, laughing.

"Tell me, Mr. Mowbray, as a friend--you know him well--could I find a better husband?"