The Youth of Jefferson Part 19

"Oh, Ernest, to hurt my feelings so!" said the boy, turning away his face.

Mowbray found himself reflecting that he had uttered a very unkind speech.

"I only meant that there was a singular mixture of character and playfulness in you, Charles," he said; "you are as changeable as the wind--and quite as pleasant to my weary brow," he added, with a smile; "you smooth its wrinkles."

"I'm very glad I do," said Hoffland; "but do not again utter such unfeeling words--_I_ like a girl!"

"No, I will not--pray pardon me," replied Mowbray.

Hoffland's lip was puckered up, until it resembled a rose-leaf rumpled by the finger of a school-girl.

"Then there is another objection to my going out this evening, Ernest," he said: "you see I return to the subject."

"What objection?"

"You ought to tell your sister what a fascinating young man I am, and put her upon her guard----"

"Charles!" cried Mowbray, with a strong disposition to laugh; "you must pardon my saying that your vanity is the most amusing I have ever encountered."

"Is it!" asked Hoffland, smiling; "but come, don't you think me fascinating?"

"Upon my word," said Mowbray, "were I to utter the exact truth, I should say yes; for I have never yet found myself so completely conciliated by a stranger. Just consider that we have not known each other a week yet----"

"But four days!" laughed Hoffland; "be accurate!"

"Well, that makes it all the stronger: we have known each other but four days, and here we are jesting with every word--'Charles' here, 'Ernest' there--as though we had been acquainted twenty years."

"Such an acquaintance might be possible for you--it is not for me,"

Hoffland said, laughing; "but I find you very generous. You have not added the strongest evidence of my wayward familiarity--that I advised you to put your sister on her guard against my fascinations. Let her take care! Else shall she be a love-sick girl--the most amusing spectacle, I think, in all the world!"

With which words Hoffland laughed so merrily and with such a musical, ringing, contagious joy, that Mowbray's feeling of pique at this unceremonious allusion to his sister pa.s.sed away completely, and he could not utter a word.

They pa.s.sed on thus to the college, conversing about a thousand things; and Mowbray saw with the greatest surprise that his companion possessed a mind of remarkable clearness and justness. His comments upon every subject were characterized by a laughing satire which played around men and things like summer lightning, and by the time they had reached Lord Botetourt's statue, Mowbray was completely silent. He listened.

CHAPTER XII.

HOW HOFFLAND CAUGHT A TARTAR IN THE PERSON OF MISS LUCY'S LOVER.

The day was not to end as quietly as Mowbray dreamed, and we shall now proceed to relate the incidents which followed this conversation.

Upon the smooth-shaven lawn, at various distances from each other, were stretched parties of students, who either bent their brows over volumes of Greek or Latin--or interchanged merry conversation, which pa.s.sed around like an elastic ball--or leaning their heads upon overturned chairs, suffered to curl upward from their lazy lips white wreaths of smoke which turned to floods of gold in the red sunset, while the calm pipe-holders dreamed of that last minuet and the blue eyes shrining it in memory, then of the reel through which she darted with such joyous sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks--and so went on and dreamed and sighed, then sighed and dreamed again. We are compelled to add that the devotees of conversation and the dreamers outnumbered the delvers into Greek and Latin, to a really deplorable degree.

It is so difficult to study out upon the gra.s.s which May has filled with flowers--so very easy to lie there and idly talk or dream!

Through these groups Mowbray and his friend took their way, noticed only with a careless glance by the studious portion when their shadows fell upon the open volumes--not at all by the talkers--and scarcely more by the dreamers, who lazily moved their heads as smokers only can--with a silent protest, that is to say, at having their reveries disturbed, and being compelled to take such enormous trouble and exertion.

As Mowbray was about to ascend the steps beyond the statue, a young man came down and greeted him familiarly.

Mowbray turned round and said:

"Mr. Denis, are you acquainted with Mr. Hoffland?"

And then the new-comer and the young student courteously saluted each other, smiled politely, and shook hands.

"Stay till I come back, Charles," said Mowbray; "you and Denis can chat under the tree yonder--and he will tell you whether Roseland can accommodate a guest. He has staid with me more than once."

With which words Mowbray pa.s.sed on.

Hoffland looked at his companion; and a single glance told him all he wished to know. Jack Denis--for he was scarcely known by any other name--was an open-hearted, honest, straight-forward young fellow of twenty, with light-brown hair, frank eyes, and a cordial bearing which at once put every body at their ease. Still there was a latent flash in the eye which denoted an excitable temper--not seldom united, as the reader must have observed, with such a character.

The young men strolled across to the tree which Mowbray had indicated, and sat down on a wicker seat which was placed at its foot.

"Mr. Mowbray said you could tell me about Roseland," Hoffland said, raising his dark eyes as was his habit beneath his low-drooping hat; "I am sure it is a pretty place from his description--is it not?"

"Oh, beautiful!" said Denis warmly; "you should go and see it."

"I think I will."

"It is not far, and indeed is scarcely half an hour's ride from town--there to the west."

"Yes; and Miss Lucy is very pretty, is she not?"

Denis colored slightly, and replied:

"I think so."

Hoffland with his quick eye discerned the slight color, and said somewhat maliciously:

"You know her very well, do you not?"

"Why, tolerably," said Denis.

"I must make her acquaintance," continued Hoffland, "for I am sure from Mowbray's description of her she is a gem. He invited me to come this evening."

"You refused?"

"Yes."

"You should not have done so, sir: Mowbray is not prodigal of such invitations."

Hoffland laughed.

"But I had a reason," he said mischievously.

"What, pray--if I may ask?"