One fine, frosty Sunday in November, Frances and I took a long walk; we made the tour of the city by the Boulevards; and, afterwards, Frances being a little tired, we sat downon one of those wayside seats placed under the trees, at intervals,for the accommodation of the weary.Frances was telling me about Switzerland; the subject animated her; and I was just thinking that her eyes spoke full as eloquently as her tongue, when she stopped and remarked—“Monsieur, there is a gentleman who knows you.”
I looked up; three fashionably dressed men were just then passing—Englishmen, I knew by their air and gait as well as by their features; in the tallest of the trio I at once recognized Mr.Hunsden; he was in the act of lifting his hat to Frances; afterwards, he made a grimace at me, and passed on.
“Who is he?”
“A person I knew in England.”
“Why did he bow to me? He does not know me.” “Yes, he does know you, in his way.”
“How, monsieur?” (She still called me “monsieur”; I could notpersuade her to adopt any more familiar term.) “Did you not read the expression of his eyes?” “Of his eyes? No.What did they say?”
“To you they said, ‘How do you do, Wilhelmina Crimsworth?’ To me, ‘So you have found your counterpart at last; there she sits, the female of your kind!’”
“Monsieur, you could not read all that in his eyes; He was sosoon gone.”
“I read that and more, Frances; I read that he will probably call on me this evening, or on some future occasion shortly; and I have no doubt he will insist on being introduced to you; shall I bring him to your rooms?”
“If you please, monsieur—I have no objection; I think, indeed, I should rather like to see him nearer; he looks so original.”
As I had anticipated, Mr.Hunsden came that evening.The first thing he said was:—“You need not begin boasting, Monsieur le Professeur; I knowabout your appointment to — College, and all that; Brown has told me.” Then he intimated that he had returned from Germany but a day or two since; afterwards, he abruptly demanded whether that was Madame Pelet-Reuter with whom he had seen me on the Boulevards.I was going to utter a rather emphatic negative, but on second thoughts I checked myself, and, seeming to assent, asked what he thought of her?
“As to her, I’ll come to that directly; but first I’ve a word for you.I see you are a scoundrel; you’ve no business to be promenading about with another man’s wife.I thought you had sounder sense than to get mixed up in foreign hodge-podge of this sort.”
“But the lady?”
“She’s too good for you evidently; she is like you, but something better than you—no beauty, though; yet when she rose (for I looked back to see you both walk away) I thought her figure and carriage good.These foreigners understand grace.What the devil has she done with Pelet? She has not been married to him three months—he must be a spoon!”
I would not let the mistake go too far; I did not like it much.
“Pelet? How your head runs on Mons.and Madame Pelet! You are always talking about them.I wish to the gods you had wed Mdlle Zora?de yourself!”
“Was that young gentlewoman not Mdlle Zora?de?”
“No; nor Madame Zora?de either.” “Why did you tell a lie, then?”
“I told no lie; but you are is such a hurry.She is a pupil ofmine—a Swiss girl.”
“And of course you are going to be married to her? Don’t deny that.”
“Married! I think I shall—if Fate spares us both ten weeks longer.That is my little wild strawberry, Hunsden, whose sweetness made me careless of your hothouse grapes.”
“Stop! No boasting—no heroics; I won’t hear them.What is she? To what caste does she belong?”
I smiled.Hunsden unconsciously laid stress on the word caste,and, in fact, republican, lord-hater as he was, Hunsden was as proud of his old —-shire blood, of his descent and family standing, respectable and respected through long generations back, as any peer in the realm of his Norman race and Conquest-dated title.Hunsden would as little have thought of taking a wife from a caste inferior to his own, as a Stanley would think of mating with a Cobden.I enjoyed the surprise I should give; I enjoyed the triumph of my practice over his theory; and leaning over the table, and uttering the words slowly but with repressed glee, I said concisely—“She is a lace-mender.”
Hunsden examined me.He did not say he was surprised, but surprised he was; he had his own notions of good breeding.I sawhe suspected I was going to take some very rash step; but repressing declamation or remonstrance, he only answered—“Well, you are the best; judge of your own affairs.A lace- mender may make a good wife as well as a lady; but of course you have taken care to ascertain thoroughly that since she has not education, fortune or station, she is well furnished with such natural qualities as you think most likely to conduce to your happiness.Has she many relations?”
“None in Brussels.”
“That is better.Relations are often the real evil in such cases.I cannot but think that a train of inferior connections would have been a bore to you to your life’s end.”
After sitting in silence a little while longer, Hunsden rose, andwas quietly bidding me good evening; the polite, considerate manner in which he offered me his hand (a thing he had never done before), convinced me that he thought I had made a terrible fool of myself; and that, ruined and thrown away as I was, it was no time for sarca** or cynicism, or indeed for anything but indulgence and forbearance.
“Good night, William,” he said, in a really soft voice, while his face looked benevolently compassionate.“Good night, lad.I wish you and your future wife much prosperity; and I hope she will satisfy your fastidious soul.”
I had much ado to refrain from laughing as I beheld the magnanimous pity of his mien; maintaining, however, a grave air, I said:—“I thought you would have liked to have seen Mdlle Henri?” “Oh, that is the name! Yes—if it would be convenient, I shouldlike to see her—but—.” He hesitated.
“Well?”
“I should on no account wish to intrude.”
