"Is it possible, Ernest?"
"I think I am right."
"Sir Asinus--as I have heard him called--a serious man?"
"Yes, and a very profound one."
"You surprise me!"
"Well, I think that some day he will surprise the world: he is a most profound thinker, and has that dangerous trait for opponents, a clearness of perception which cuts through the rind of a subject, and eviscerates the real core of it with extraordinary ease. You know----"
"Now you are going to talk politics," said Hoffland, laughing.
"No," said Ernest.
"I do not like politics," Hoffland continued; "they weary me, and I would much rather talk of b.a.l.l.s.--What a funny figure Sir Asinus will cut with that little creature--in reel or minuet!"
And Hoffland complimented his own conception with a laugh.
"I scarcely fancy he will go in his old dressing-gown," said Mowbray with his sad smile; "that would be a poor compliment to his Excellency, and the many beautiful dames who will meet him."
"Is it to be a large ball?"
"I believe so."
"And very gay?"
"No doubt."
"You escort Miss Lucy?"
"Yes."
"And do you antic.i.p.ate much pleasure?"
"Can you ask me, Charles?"
"Why--I thought you might throw off--this feeling you have----"
"I cannot," Mowbray said, shaking his head; "time only can accomplish that--not music, and gay forms, and laughter! Ah, Charles!" he added with a deep and weary sigh, "you plainly know nothing of my feeling. I cannot prevent myself from speaking of it--it makes me the merest boy; and now I say that it is far too strong to be dispelled in any degree by merriment. Mirth and joy and festive scenes obliterate some annoyances--those vague disquietudes which oppress some persons; they are scarcely a balm for sorrow, real sorrow."
Hoffland held down his head and sighed.
"I shall see her there to-night, I doubt not," Mowbray went on, striving to preserve his calmness; "our glances will meet; her satirical smile will rise to her lips, and she will turn away as indifferently as if she had not cruelly and wantonly wounded a heart which loves her truly--deeply. This I shall suffer--this I antic.i.p.ate: can you ask me then if I look forward to the ball with pleasure?"
Hoffland raised his head; his face was full of smiles.
"But suppose she does not look thus at you?" he said.
"I do not understand----"
"Suppose Philippa--was not that her name?--suppose she smiles when you bow to her: for you will bow, won"t you, Ernest?"
"a.s.suredly; but to reply to your question. I should know perfectly well that her smile was the untrue manoeuvre of a coquette. Ah!
Charles! Charles! may you never know what it is to see a false smile in woman--cold and chilling--the glitter of sunlight upon snow. It is worse than frowns!"
"Ernest, you are a strange person," said Hoffland; "you seem determined to misjudge this young girl, who is not as bad as you think her, my life upon it! So, frown or smile, you are determined to hate her?"
"I do not hate her! Would to Heaven I could get as far from love for her, as the neutral ground of indifference."
"Unhappy man!" said Hoffland; "you pray to be delivered from love!"
"Devoutly."
"It is our greatest happiness."
"And deepest misery."
"Misanthrope!"
"No, Charles, I neither hate men nor women; I do not permit this disappointment to sour my heart. But I cannot become an advocate of the feeling which has caused me such cruel suffering. Let us say no more. We shall meet at the ball, and then you will be able to judge whether I am mistaken in the estimate I place upon this young girl"s character. She is beautiful, haughty, suspicious, and unfeeling: it tears my heart to say it, but it is true. You will never after this evening doubt my unhappiness, or charge me with error."
"Probably not," said Hoffland, turning away his head; "I will make your error plain to you--but promise to speak of it no more."
"What do you mean by "make my error plain to me"?"
"You will see."
"Charles!" said Mowbray suddenly, "you cannot have designed to approach this lady upon the subject which I have spoken to you of, as friend to friend? That is not possible!"
"I shall not say one single word to your lady-love."
"Explain then."
"Never--I am a Sphinx, an oracle: until the time comes I am dumb."
"You only strive to raise my spirits," said Mowbray with his sad smile; "that is very kind in you, but I fear it is even more than you could do."
"By which I suppose you mean that I could "raise your spirits" if any body could."
"I may say yes--for you have a rare cheerfulness. It is almost contagious."
Hoffland looked sidewise at his companion for a moment with a curious smile, and said:
"Ernest."
"Well, Charles."