Having thus delivered himself, Mr. Audley lapsed into meditation, and thence into a faint and rather painful attempt to vocalize his remembrance of "The Captain endearing and tall," engaged in which desperate operation of memory, O'Connor left the old gentleman, and returned to his temporary abode to pass a sleepless night of vain remembrances, regrets, and despair.
On the morning subsequent to the somewhat disorderly scene which we have described as having occurred in the theatre, Mary Ashwoode, as usual, sate silent and melancholy, in the dressing-room of her father, Sir Richard. The baronet was not yet sufficiently recovered to venture downstairs to breakfast, which in those days was a very early meal indeed. After an unusually prolonged silence, the old man, turning suddenly to his daughter, abruptly said, "Mary, you have now had some days to study Lord Aspenly—how do you like him?"
The girl raised her eyes, not a little surprised at the question, and doubtful whether she had heard it aright.
"I say," resumed he, "you ought to have been able by this time to arrive at a fair judgment as to Lord Aspenly's merits—what do you think of him—do you like him?"
"Indeed, father," replied she, "I have observed him very little—he may be a very estimable man, but I have not seen enough of him to form any opinion; and indeed, if I had, my opinion must needs be a matter of the merest indifference to him and everyone else."
"Your opinion upon this point," replied Sir Richard, tartly, "happens not to be a matter of indifference."
A considerable pause again ensued, during which Mary Ashwoode had ample time to reflect upon the very unpleasant doubts which this brief speech, and the tone in which it was uttered, were calculated to inspire.
"Lord Aspenly's manners are very agreeable, very," continued Sir Richard, meditatively—"I may say, indeed, fascinating—very—do you think so?" he added sharply, turning towards his daughter.
This was rather a puzzling question. The girl had never thought about him except as a frivolous old beau; yet it was plain she could not say so without vexing her father; she therefore adopted the simplest expedient under such perplexing circumstances, and preserved an embarrassed silence.
"The fact is," said Sir Richard, raising himself a little, so as to look full in his daughter's face, at the same time speaking slowly and sternly, "the fact is, I had better be explicit on this subject. I am anxious that you should think well of Lord Aspenly; it is, in short, my wish and pleasure that you should like him; you understand me—you had better understand me." This was said with an emphasis not to be mistaken, and another pause ensued. "For the present," continued he, "run down and amuse yourself—and—stay—offer to show his lordship the old terrace garden—do you mind? Now, once more, run away."
So saying, the old gentleman turned coolly from her, and rang his hand-bell vehemently. Scarcely knowing what she did, such was her astonishment at all that had passed, Mary Ashwoode left the room without any very clear notion as to whither she was going, or what to do; nor was her confusion much relieved when, on entering the hall, the first object which encountered her was Lord Aspenly himself, with his triangular hat under his arm, while he adjusted his deep lace ruffles—he had never looked so ugly before. As he stood beneath her while she descended the broad staircase, smiling from ear to ear, and bowing with the most chivalric profundity, his skinny, lemon-coloured face, and cold, glittering little eyes raised toward her—she thought that it was impossible for the human shape so nearly to assume the outward semblance of a squat, emaciated toad.
"Miss Ashwoode, as I live!" exclaimed the noble peer, with his most gracious and fascinating smile. "On what mission of love and mercy does she move? Shall I hope that her first act of pity may be exercised in favour of the most devoted of her slaves? I have been looking in vain for a guide through the intricacies of Sir Richard's yew hedges and leaden statues; may I hope that my presiding angel has sent me one in you?"
Lord Aspenly paused, and grinned wider and wider, but receiving no answer, he resumed,—
"I understand, Miss Ashwoode, that the pleasure-grounds, which surround us, abound in samples of your exquisite taste; as a votary of Flora, may I ask, if the request be not too bold, that you will vouchsafe to lead a bewildered pilgrim to the object of his search? There is—is there not?—shrined in the centre of these rustic labyrinths, a small flower-garden which owes its sweet existence to your creative genius; if it be not too remote, and if you can afford so much leisure, allow me to implore your guidance."
As he thus spoke, with a graceful flourish, the little gentleman extended his hand, and courteously taking hers by the extreme points of the fingers, he led her forward in a manner, as he thought, so engaging as to put resistance out of the question. Mary Ashwoode felt far too little interest in anything but the one ever-present grief which weighed upon her heart, to deny the old fop his trifling request; shrouding her graceful limbs, therefore, in a short cloak, and drawing the hood over her head, she walked forth, with slow steps and an aching heart, among the trim hedges which fenced the old-fashioned pleasure walks.
"Beauty," exclaimed the nobleman, as he walked with an air of romantic gallantry by her side, and glancing as he spoke at the flowers which adorned the border of the path—"beauty is nowhere seen to greater advantage than in spots like this; where nature has amassed whatever is most beautiful in the inanimate creation, only to prove how unutterably more exquisite are the charms of living loveliness: these walks, but this moment to me a wilderness, are now so many paths of magic pleasure—how can I enough thank the kind enchantress to whom I owe the transformation?" Here the little gentleman looked unutterable things, and a silence of some minutes ensued, during which he effected some dozen very wheezy sighs. Emboldened by Miss Ashwoode's silence, which he interpreted as a very unequivocal proof of conscious tenderness, he resolved to put an end to the skirmishing with which he had opened his attack, and to commence the action in downright earnestness. "This place breathes an atmosphere of romance; it is a spot consecrated to the worship of love; it is—it is the shrine of passion, and I—I am a votary—a worshipper."
Miss Ashwoode paused in mingled surprise and displeasure, for his vehemence had become so excessive as, in conjunction with his asthma, to threaten to choke his lordship outright. When Mary Ashwoode stopped short, Lord Aspenly took it for granted that the crisis had arrived, and that the moment for the decisive onset was now come; he therefore ejaculated with a rapturous croak,—
"And you—you are my divinity!" and at the same moment he descended stiffly upon his two knees, caught her hand in his, and began to mumble it with unmistakable devotion.
"My lord—Lord Aspenly!—surely your lordship cannot mean—have done, my lord," exclaimed the astonished girl, withdrawing her hand indignantly from his grasp. "Rise, my lord; you cannot mean otherwise than to mock me by such extravagance.