Chapter 28

HOFFLAND EXERTS HIMSELF TO AMUSE THE COMPANY.

Lucy was a young girl of nineteen or twenty, with the brightest face, the most sparkling eyes, and the merriest voice which ever adorned woman entering her prime. Her laughter was contagious, and the listener must perforce laugh in unison. Her face drove away gloom, as the sun does; her smile was pure merriment, routing all cares; and Mowbray's sad countenance became again serene, his lips smiled.

Lucy bowed demurely to the boy, who held out his hand laughing.

"Oh! Ernest and myself are sworn friends," he said; "and the fact is, Miss Lucy, I had serious doubts whether I should not kiss you--I love you so much--for Ernest's sake!"

And Hoffland pursed up his lips, prepared for all things.

Lucy was so completely overcome by laughter at this extraordinary speech, that for a moment she remained perfectly silent, shaking with merriment.

Hoffland conceived the design to take advantage of this astonishment, and modestly "held up his mouth," as children say. The consequence was that Miss Lucy extricated her hand from his grasp, and drew back with some hauteur; whereupon Hoffland assumed an expression of such mortification and childlike dissatisfaction, that Mowbray, who had witnessed this strange scene, could not suppress a smile.

"I might as well tell you frankly at once, Lucy," he said, "that Charles is the oddest person, and I think the most perfect boy, at times, I have ever known."

"I a boy!" cried Hoffland; "I am no such thing!--am I, Lucy--_Miss_ Lucy, I mean, of course? I am not so young as all that, and I see nothing so strange in wanting a kiss. But I won't misbehave any more; come now, see!"

And drawing himself up with a delightful expression of dignified courtesy, Hoffland said, solemnly offering his arm to Lucy:

"Shall I have the honor, Miss Mowbray, of escorting you into the garden for the purpose of gathering some roses to deck your queenly brow?"

Lucy would have refused; but overcome with laughter, and unable to resist the ludicrous solemnity of Hoffland's voice and manner, she placed her finger on his arm, and they walked into the garden.

Roseland was a delightful little cottage, full of flowers, and redolent of spring. It fronted south, and seemed to be the favorite of the sun, which shone through its vine-embowered windows and lit up its drooping eaves, as it nowhere else did.

A little passage led quite through the house, and by this passage Hoffland and his fair companion entered the garden.

Mowbray sat down and examined some papers which he took from his pocket; then trained a flowering vine from the window-sill to a nail in the wall without, for he was very fond of flowers; then, bethinking himself that Hoffland was his guest, turned to go into the garden.

As he did so, he caught sight of a horseman approaching the cottage; and soon this horseman drew near enough to be recognised. It was Mr. John Denis, whose admiration for Miss Lucy Mowbray our readers have possibly divined from former pages of this true history.

Mr. Denis dismounted and entered the grounds of the cottage, sending before him a friendly smile. Denis was one of those honest, worthy fellows, who are as single-minded as children, and in whose eyes all men and things are just what they seem: hypocrisy he could never understand, and it was almost as difficult for the worthy young man to comprehend irony. We have seen an exemplification of this in his affair with Hoffland; and if our narrative permitted it, we might, by following him through his after life, find many more instances of the same singleness of heart and understanding.

Denis was very tastefully dressed, and his face was, as we have said, full of smiles. He held out his hand to Mowbray with honest warmth, and they entered the cottage.

The reader may imagine that Denis inquired as to the whereabouts of Miss Lucy--his wandering glances not having fallen upon that young lady. Not at all. For did ever lover introduce the subject of his lady-love? When we are young, and in love, do we go to visit Dulcinea or her brother Tom? Is not that agreeable young gentleman the sole attraction which draws us; do we not ride a dozen miles for his sake, and has Dulcinea any thing to do with the rapturous delight we experience in dreaming of the month we shall spend with Tom in August? Of course not; and Denis did not allude in the remotest manner to Lucy. On the contrary, he became the actor which love makes of the truest men, and said, with careless ease:

"A lovely evening for a ride."

"Yes," said Mowbray, driving away his sad thoughts; "why didn't you come with us, Jack?"

"With you?"

"Myself and Hoffland."

"Hoffland!"

"Yes; what surprises you?"

"Is Hoffland here?"

Mowbray nodded.

Denis looked round; and then his puzzled glance returned to the face of his friend.

"I do not see him," he said.

"He went into the garden just now," explained Mowbray.

Denis would have given thousands to be able to say, "Where is Lucy?" It was utterly impossible, however. Instead of doing so, he asked:

"You came in a buggy?"

"Yes," said Mowbray.

"Is Hoffland agreeable--I mean a pleasant fellow?"

"I think so: rather given to jesting--and I suppose this was the origin of your unhappy difficulty. Most quarrels spring from jests."

"True. I believe he was jesting; in fact I know it," said poor Jack Denis, wiping his brow and trying to plunge his glance into the depths of the garden, where Lucy and Hoffland were no doubt walking. "Still, Ernest, I could not have acted differently; and you would be the first person to agree with me, were I to tell you the subject of his jests."

And Denis frowned.

"What was it?" said Mowbray. "Hoffland refused point-blank to tell me, and I am perfectly ignorant of the whole affair."

Denis hesitated. Was it fair and honest to prejudice Mowbray against the boy? but on the contrary, was not the whole affair now explained as a simple jest, and would there be harm in telling what the young student had said to provoke him? The young man hesitated, and said:

"I don't know--it was a mere jest; there is no use in opening the subject again----"

"Ah, Jack!" said Mowbray, "I see that I am to live and die in ignorance, for I repeat that Hoffland would not tell me. With all the carelessness of a child, he seems to possess the reserve of a politician or a woman."

"A strange character, is he not?" said Denis.

"Yes; and yet he has won upon me powerfully."

"Your acquaintance is very short," said poor Denis, his heart sinking at the thought of having so handsome and graceful a rival as the boy.

"Very," returned Mowbray; "but he positively took me by storm."

"And you like him?"

"To be sincere--exceedingly."

"Why?" muttered Denis.

"Really, I can scarcely say," replied his friend; "but he is a mere boy; seems to be wholly without friends; and he has virtually yielded to me the guidance of all his affairs. This may seem an absurd reason for liking Hoffland; but that is just my weak side, Jack. When any one comes to me and says, 'I am weak and inexperienced, you are in a position to aid and assist me; be my friend;' how can I refuse?"

"And Hoffland----"

"Has done so? Yes."

"Humph!"

"Besides this, he is a mere boy; and to speak frankly, is so affectionate and winning in his demeanor toward me, that I really have not the courage to repel his advances. Strange young man! at times I know not what to think of him. He is alternately a child, a woman, and a matured man in character; but most often a child."

"Indeed?" said Denis, whose heart sunk at every additional word uttered by Mowbray; "how then did he display such willingness to fight--and I will add, such careless bravado?"

"Because fighting was a mere word to him," said Mowbray; "I believe that he no more realized the fact that you would direct the muzzle of a pistol toward his breast, than that you would stab or poison him."

Denis wiped his brow.

"I didn't want to fight," he said; "but I was obliged to do something."

"Was the provocation gross?"

"Pardon my question. I did not mean to return to the subject, inasmuch as some reason for withholding the particulars of the interview seems to exist in your mind."

Denis hesitated and muttered something to himself; then, raising his head suddenly, he added with some bitterness:

"Perhaps you may have your curiosity satisfied from another source, Ernest. I see Mr. Hoffland approaching the house with Miss Lucy--from the garden, there. No doubt he will tell you."

In fact, Miss Lucy and Hoffland were sauntering in from the garden in high glee. Lucy from time to time burst into loud and merry laughter, clapping her hands, and expressing great delight at something which Hoffland was communicating; and Hoffland was bending down familiarly and whispering in her ear.

No sooner, however, had the promenaders caught sight of Mowbray and Denis looking at them, than their manner suddenly changed. Hoffland drew back, and raising his head with great dignity, solemnly offered his arm to the young girl; and Lucy, choking down her merriment and puckering up her lips to hide her laughter, placed her little finger on the sleeve of her cavalier. And so they approached the inmates of the cottage, with quiet and graceful dignity, like noble lord and lady; and entering, bowed ceremoniously, and sat down with badly smothered laughter.

"Really," said Mowbray smiling, "you will permit me to say, Charles, that you have a rare genius for making acquaintance suddenly: Lucy and yourself seem to be excellent friends already."

And he looked kindly at the boy, who smiled.

"Friends?" said Hoffland; "we are cousins!"

"Cousins? Indeed!"

"Certainly, my dear fellow," said Hoffland, with a delightful ease and _bonhomie_. "I have discovered that my great-grandmother married the cousin of an uncle of cousin Lucy's great-grandfather's wife's aunt; and moreover, that this aunt was the niece of my great-uncle's first wife's husband. That makes it perfectly plain--don't it, Mr. Denis? Take care how you differ with me: cousin Lucy understands it perfectly, and she has a very clear head."

"Thank you, sir," said Lucy, laughing; "a great compliment."

"Not at all," said Hoffland; "some women have a great deal of sense--or at least a good deal."

"Indeed, sir!"

"Yes; but it is not their failing generally. I have taken up that impression of you, cousin Lucy, from our general conversation; not from your ability to comprehend so simple a genealogical table as that of our relationship."

"Upon my word, _I_ don't understand it," said Mowbray, smiling.

"Is it possible, Ernest? Listen again, then. My great-grandfather--recollect him, now--married the uncle of a cousin--observe, the uncle of a cousin----"

"What! your great-grandfather married the _uncle_ of somebody's cousin? Is it possible?"

"Now you are laughing at me," said Hoffland, pouting; "what if I did get it a little wrong? I meant that my great-grandmother married the uncle of a cousin of cousin Lucy's wife's great-grandfather's aunt--who----"

"Lucy's wife is then involved, is she, Charles?" asked Mowbray; "but go on."

"No, I won't!" said Hoffland; "you are just trying to confuse and embarrass me. I will not tell you any more: but cousin Lucy understands; don't you, Miss Lucy?"

"Quite enough to understand that we occupy a closer relationship than we seem to," said Lucy, threatening to burst into laughter.

Hoffland gave her a warning glance; and then assuming a polite and graceful smile, asked:

"Pray, what were you and Mr. Denis talking of, my dear Ernest? Come, tell a fellow!"

Lucy turned away and covered her face, which was crimson with laughter.

"We were speaking of the quarrel which we were unfortunate enough to have, sir," said poor Denis coldly; "and I referred Mr. Mowbray to you for an account of it."

"To me?" said Hoffland smiling; "why not tell him yourself?"

"I did not fancy it, sir."

"Why, in the world?"

"Come! come!" said Mowbray smiling, and wishing to nip the new altercation in the bud; "don't let us talk any more about it. It is all ended now, and I don't care to know----"

"Why, there's nothing to conceal," said Hoffland, laughing.

Denis colored.

"I'll tell you in an instant," laughed the boy.

Lucy turned toward him; and Denis looked out of the window.

"We were talking of women first," continued Hoffland; "a subject, cousin Lucy, which we men discuss much oftener than you ladies imagine----"

"Indeed!" said Lucy, nearly choking with laughter.

"Yes," continued the boy; "and after agreeing that Miss Theorem the mathematician was charming; Miss Quartz the geologist lovely; that Miss Affectation was very _piquante_, and Mrs. Youngwidow exceedingly fine-looking in her mourning; after having amicably interchanged our ideas on these topics, we came to discuss the celebrated lunar theory."

"What is that?" asked Lucy.

"Simply the question, what the moon is made of."

"Indeed?"

"Certainly. Mr. Denis took the common and erroneous view familiar to scientific men; I, on the contrary, supported the green-cheese view of the question; and this was the real cause of our quarrel. I am sure Mr. Denis and myself are the most excellent friends now," said Hoffland, turning with a smile towards Denis; "and we will never quarrel any more."

A pause of some moments followed this ridiculous explanation; and this pause was first broken by Miss Lucy, who burst into the most unladylike laughter, and indeed shook from head to foot in the excess of her mirth. Mowbray looked with an amazed and puzzled air at Hoffland, and Denis did not know what to say or how to look.

Lucy, after laughing uninterruptedly for nearly five minutes, suddenly remembered the indecorum of this strange exhibition; so, drying her eyes, and assuming a demure and business-like air, she took a small basket of keys, and apologizing for her departure, went to attend to supper. Before leaving the room, however, she gladdened honest Jack Denis's heart with a sweet smile, and this smile was so perfect a balm to the wounded feelings of the worthy fellow, that his discontent and ill-humor disappeared completely, and he was almost ready to give his hand to his rival, Hoffland. The same arrow had mortally wounded Jacques and Denis.