Miss Sallianna threw a glance, so much more languishing than the former, upon her companion, that had his heart not been wrapped in Redbud, it certainly would have been pierced.
"Follow her example," simpered Miss Sallianna, looking down with blushing cheeks, and picking at her fan with an air of girlish innocence. "Could you not do as she has done--and--choose--another object yourself?"
And Miss Sallianna raised her eyes, bashfully, to Verty"s face, then cast them with maidenly modesty upon the carpet.
"No, ma"am," said Verty, thoughtfully, and quite ignorant of the deadly attack designed by the fair lady upon his heart--"I don"t think I could change."
In these simple words the honest Verty answered all.
"Why not?" simpered the lady.
"Because I don"t think Redbud is in love with anybody else," he said; "I know she is not!"
"Why, then, has she treated you so badly?" said Miss Sallianna, gradually forgetting her bashfulness, and rea.s.suming her languishing air and manner--"there must be some laborious circ.u.mstance, Mr.
Verty."
Verty pressed his head with his hand, and was silent. All at once a brighter light illumined the fair lady"s face, and she addressed herself to speak, first uttering a modest cough--
"Suppose I suggest a plan of finding out, sir," she said; "we might find easily."
"Oh, ma"am! how?"
"Will you follow my advice?"
"Yes, ma"am--of course. I mean if it"s right. Excuse me, I did not mean--what was your advice, ma"am?" stammered Verty.
The lady smiled, and did not seem at all offended at Verty"s qualification.
"It may appear singular to you at first," Miss Sallianna said; "but my advice is, that you appear to make love--to pay attentions to--somebody else for a short time."
"Attentions, ma"am?"
"Seem to like some other lady better than Redbud."
"Oh, but that would not be right."
"Why?"
"Because I don"t."
Miss Sallianna smiled.
"I don"t want you to change at all, Mr. Verty," she said; "only to take this _modus addendi_, which is the Greek for _way_,--to take this way to find out. I would not advise it, of course, if it was wrong, and it is the best thing you could do, indeed."
Verty strongly combated this plan, but was met at every turn, by Miss Sallianna, with ready logic; and the result, as is almost always the case when men have the temerity to argue with ladies, was a total defeat. Verty was convinced, or _talked obtuse_ upon the subject, and with many misgivings, acquiesced in Miss Sallianna"s plan.
That lady then went on in a sly and careful manner--possibly _diplomatic_ would be the polite word--to suggest herself as the most proper object of Verty"s experiment. He might make love to her if he wished--she would not be offended. He might even kiss her hand, and kneel to her, and perform any other gallant ceremony he fancied--she would make allowances, and not become angry if he even proceeded so far as to write her billet-doux, and ask her hand in a matrimonial point of view. Miss Sallianna wound up by saying, that it would be an affair of rare and opprobrious interest; and, as a comedy, would be positively deleterious, which was probably a _lapsus linguae_ for "delicious."
So when Verty rose to take his departure, he was a captive to Miss Sallianna"s bow and spear; or more accurately, to her fan and tongue: and had promised to come on the very next day, after school hours, and commence the amusing trial of Reddy"s affections. The lady tapped him with her fan, smiled languidly, and rolled up her eyes--Verty bowed, and took his leave of her.
He mounted Cloud, and calling Longears, took his way sadly toward town. Could he not look back and see those tender eyes following him from the lattice of Redbud"s room--and blessing him?
CHAPTER XXIV.
OF THE EFFECT OF VERTY"S VIOLIN-PLAYING UPON MR. RUSHTON.
The young man had just reached the foot of the hill, upon which the Bower of Nature stood--have we not mentioned before the name which Miss Sallianna had bestowed upon the seminary?--when he heard himself accosted by a laughing and careless voice, and raised his head, to see from whom it proceeded.
The voice, apparently, issued from a gentleman who had drawn rein in the middle of the road, and was gazing at him with great good humor and freedom. Verty returned this gaze, and the result of his inspection was, that the new-comer was a total stranger to him. He was a young man of about nineteen, with handsome features, characterized by an expression of nonchalance and careless good humor; clad in a very rich dress, somewhat foppish, but of irreproachable taste; and the horse he bestrode was an animal as elegant in figure and appointments as his master.
"Hallo, friend!" the new-comer had said, "give you good-day."
Verty nodded.
"You don"t recognize me," said the young man.
"I believe not," replied Verty.
"Well, that"s all right; and it would be strange if you did," the young man went on in his careless voice; "we have never met, I think, and, faith! all I recognize about you is my coat."
"Your coat?"
"Coat, did I say?--worse than that! I recognize my knee-breeches, my stockings, my chapeau, my waistcoat!"
And the new-comer burst into a careless laugh.
Verty shook his head.
"They are mine, sir," he said.
"You are mistaken."
Verty returned the careless glance with one which seemed to indicate that he was not very well pleased.
"How?" he said.
"I maintain that you are wearing my clothes, by Jove! Come, let us fight it out;--or no! I"ve got an engagement, my dear fellow, and we must put it off. f.a.n.n.y is waiting for me, and would be dying with disappointment if I didn"t come."
With which the young fellow touched his horse, and commenced humming a song.
"f.a.n.n.y?" said Verty, with a sad smile, "what! up at old Scowley"s?"
"The very place! Why, you have caught the very form of words by which I am myself accustomed to speak of that respectable matron."
"I know Miss f.a.n.n.y."