“Conceal them! My dearest aunt! Why, I danced twice with Daphne.”
“Daphne! Yes, Daphne. They all run after Daphne,” my aunt exclaimed, altering the venue once more. “But there’s no respect for age left. I expect to be neglected. However, that’s neither here nor there. The point is this: you’re the one man now living in the family. You ought to behave like a brother to Daphne. Why don’t you board this Holsworthy person and ask him his intentions?”
“Goodness gracious!” I cried; “most excellent of aunts, that epoch has gone past. The late lamented Queen Anne is now dead. It’s no use asking the young man of to-day to explain his intentions. He will refer you to the works of the Scandinavian dramatists.”
My aunt was speechless. She could only gurgle out the words: “Well, I can safely say that of all the monstrous behaviour—” then language failed her and she relapsed into silence.
However, when Daphne and young Holsworthy returned, I had as much talk with him as I could, and when he left the house I left also.
“Which way are you walking?” I asked, as we turned out into the street.
“Towards my rooms in the Temple.”
“Oh! I’m going back to St. Nathaniel’s,” I continued. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll walk part way with you.”
“How very kind of you!”
We strode side by side a little distance in silence. Then a thought seemed to strike the lugubrious young man. “What a charming girl your cousin is!” he exclaimed, abruptly.
“You seem to think so,” I answered, smiling.
He flushed a little; the lantern jaw grew longer. “I admire her, of course,” he answered. “Who doesn’t? She is so extraordinarily handsome.”
“Well, not exactly handsome,” I replied, with more critical and kinsman-like deliberation. “Pretty, if you will; and decidedly pleasing and attractive in manner.”
He looked me up and down, as if he found me a person singularly deficient in taste and appreciation. “Ah, but then, you are her cousin,” he said at last, with a compassionate tone. “That makes a difference.”
“I quite see all Daphne’s strong points,” I answered, still smiling, for I could perceive he was very far gone. “She is good-looking, and she is clever.”
“Clever!” he echoed. “Profound! She has a most unusual intellect. She stands alone.”
“Like her mother’s silk dresses,” I murmured, half under my breath.
He took no notice of my flippant remark, but went on with his rhapsody. “Such depth; such penetration! And then, how sympathetic! Why, even to a mere casual acquaintance like myself, she is so kind, so discerning!”
“Are you such a casual acquaintance?” I inquired, with a smile. (It might have shocked Aunt Fanny to hear me; but that is the way we ask a young man his intentions nowadays.)
He stopped short and hesitated. “Oh, quite casual,” he replied, almost stammering. “Most casual, I assure you.… I have never ventured to do myself the honour of supposing that…that Miss Tepping could possibly care for me.”