Daisy Burns Volume I Part 15

I was shy, but that name had a spell; I obeyed it at once. Morton Smalley was a pale, slender, and good-looking young clergyman, with a stoop, and a long neck; he seemed amiable, and might be said to look meekly into the world through a pair of gold spectacles and over an immaculate white neckcloth. He sat on the edge of his chair, nervously holding his hat; yet when I went up to him, he held out his hand with a smile so kind, and looked at me so benignantly through his gla.s.ses, that my shyness vanished at once.

"That Smalley always was a lucky fellow with the ladies," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr.

Trim, once more peering round the room with his hands on his knees.

Mr. Smalley blushed rosy red at the imputation.

"A very wild fellow he used to be, I a.s.sure you, Ma'am,--ha! ha!"

"My dear Trim," nervously began Mr. Smalley.

"Now, don't Smalley," deprecatingly interrupted Leopold Trim,--"don't be severe; you always are so confoundedly severe."

"Not in an unchristian manner, I hope," observed Mr. Smalley, looking uncomfortable.

"As if _I_ meant any harm!" continued Mr. Trim, looking low-spirited; "as if any one minded the jokes of a good-natured fellow like _me!_"

Mr. Smalley looked remorseful.

"Don't be afraid of me, my dear," he said to me, "I am very fond of little girls."

"Oh! I am not afraid," I replied, confidently; for he did not look as if he could hurt a fly.

Mr. Smalley brightened, and began questioning me; I answered readily. He looked surprised and said--

"You are really very well informed, my dear."

"It is Cornelius who teaches me," I replied proudly.

"Then my wonder ceases. We were all proud of your brother, Ma'am,"

observed Mr. Smalley, addressing Kate, "and grateful--"

"For fighting all your battles--eh, Smalley?" kindly interrupted Mr.

Trim.

Mr. Smalley coloured, but subdued the carnal man, to answer meekly--

"I objected on principle to the unchristian encounters which take place amongst boys, and I certainly owed much to the superior physical strength of our valued friend."

"Lord, Smalley! how touchy you are!" exclaimed Mr. Trim, with mournful surprise.

"Not in this case, surely," Mr. Smalley anxiously replied; "how could I take your remarks unkindly, when you know it was actually with you our dear friend had that first little affair--"

"It is very well for you, who looked on, to call it a little affair,"

rather sharply interrupted Mr. Trim, "but I never got such a drubbing."

Kate laughed gaily. Mr. Smalley, finding he had unconsciously been sarcastic, looked confounded, and tried to get out of it by suddenly finding out that when Miss O'Reilly laughed she was very like her brother. But Mr. Trim was on him directly. He, as every one knew, was as blind as a bat; but how did it happen that Smalley, who wore gla.s.ses, and pretended to have weak eyes, could yet see well enough to discover likenesses? He put the question with an air of injured candour. Mr.

Smalley protested that his eyes were weak; but Mr. Trim proved to him so clearly that he was physically and mentally as sharp-eyed as a lynx, that his friend gave in, a convicted impostor, and took refuge in the Dorsetshire curacy to which he was proceeding, and of which he gave an account that might have answered for a bishopric. But thither too, Mr.

Trim pursued him, and broadly hinted at the selfishness of some people, who could think of nothing but that which concerned them. Upon which Mr.

Smalley, looking at Kate, declared in self-defence that it was not through indifference, but from a sense of discretion, he had not inquired in what branch of literature, science, or art, her brother was now distinguishing himself. Miss O'Reilly reddened, and looked indignantly at Mr. Trim, who, with his eyes shut and his hands on his knees, had suddenly dropped into a doze by the fire-side. Then she drew up her slender figure, and said stiffly--

"My brother is a clerk, Sir."

Mr. Smalley looked at her with mute and incredulous surprise.

"Don't you remember I told you?" observed Mr. Trim, wakening up: "we were turning the corner of Oxford-street."

Mr. Smalley remembered turning the corner of Oxford-street, but no more.

"Yes, yes," confidently resumed Mr. Trim, "we were turning the corner of Oxford-street, when I said to you, 'Is it not a shame a scholar, a genius like O'Reilly, should be perched up on a high stool in a dirty hole of an office--'"

"It was his own choice," interrupted Kate, and she began speaking of the weather.

Five struck; I stole out of the room, went to the garden, and opening the door, stood on the threshold to watch for Cornelius. I soon saw him, and ran out to meet him.

"Mr. Trim is come," I said.

"Is he?" was the careless reply.

"And Mr. Smalley, too."

Cornelius uttered a joyful exclamation, and hastened in, leaving me the door to close. The greeting of the two friends was not over when I entered the parlour. They stood in a proximity that rendered more apparent Mr. Smalley's feminine slenderness as contrasted with the erect and decided bearing of Cornelius, who, although much younger, had, as if by the intuitive remembrance of their old relation of protector and protected, laid his hand on the shoulder of his former school-fellow, looking down at him with a pleased smile.

"Don't you think he's grown?" asked Mr. Trim.

"More than you," was the short reply.

"How much _you_ are altered!" said Mr. Smalley, surveying his friend with evident admiration.

"And so are you," replied Cornelius, glancing at his clerical attire: "I congratulate you."

The Reverend Morton Smalley coloured a little, and, with a proud and happy smile, replied, gently squeezing the hand of Cornelius--

"Thank you, my dear friend; I have indeed obtained the privilege of entering our beloved Church--"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Mr. Trim, peering around, "Smalley always liked the ladies,--ha! ha!"

Mr. Smalley reddened and looked hurt, like a lover who hears his mistress slighted. Cornelius, who still stood with his hand on the shoulder of his friend, slowly turned towards Mr. Trim, to say, in a tone of ice--

"Did you speak, Trim?"

Mr. Trim opened his eyes with an alarmed start, as if he rather expected a sort of sequel to "the little affair" of their early days.

"Why, it is only a joke," he hastily replied; "I like a joke, you know; but who minds _me?_"

Before Cornelius could answer, Miss O'Reilly closed the discussion by ringing for tea. Mr. Trim, who now seemed gathered up into himself, like a snail in his sh.e.l.l, drank six cups in profound silence, then went back to the fireside, where, shutting his eyes, he indulged in a nap. Miss O'Reilly was as silent as a hostess could well be. I sat near her, unnoticed, but attentive.

Both during and after the meal the conversation was left to Cornelius and his friend. They spoke of Mr. Smalley's prospects; of the Dorsetshire curacy, on which he again dwelt _con amore;_ they talked of old times, laughed over old jokes, and exchanged information concerning old companions and school-fellows, now scattered far and wide.