"'Goldsmith's Animated Nature.'"

"Ah! you don't like that. What follows?"

"A long row of 'Buffon,' sir, and then 'Tytler's Universal History.' I haven't read 'Buffon,' and I think Tytler--well--very nice, but tiresome, you know."

"Try the shelf above."

"The first book, sir, is 'Irving's Goldsmith.'"

"Did you ever read it?"

I said Miss Crowen had given it to me to read, last vacation.

"You found it tiresome?"

"Tiresome! why, sir, I think it is the nicest book in the world. I can't help thinking how Goldsmith would love Mr. Irving, if he knew about it!

Next, sir, comes a very pretty copy of 'Macaulay's Roman Lays,' and five volumes of his 'Essays.'"

"Did Miss Crowen give you Macaulay to read?"

"I took it from the library, and she did not make any objection."

"And what do you think of him as a writer?"

I did not need to look in his face to know how much diverted he was at the idea of extracting a criticism of the great historian from such a chit as I; and summoning all my courage to the aid of my pride, I answered steadily.

"If one of my 'age and s.e.x,' sir, can be considered to have an opinion, I should say, that though Mr. Macaulay is probably the most brilliant writer of the century, he is the one who has done the least good. I don't think any one who has the least faith, reverence, or loyalty, can read him except under protest."

"Which means," said Mr. Rutledge, "that you and Mr. Macaulay are so unhappy as to differ on some points of politics and theology, _n'est ce pas?_"

"I know very little about politics, and less about theology; I only know how I feel when he calls King Charles the First 'a bungling villain,' 'a bad man,' and says even prettier things about Lord Stafford; I know it vexes me when he elevates Cromwell 'into a man whose talents were equal to the highest duties of a soldier and a prince,' and never omits an opportunity of sneering, with a mixture of contempt and pity, at that slow old inst.i.tution, the Church of England."

"And you do not agree with him?"

"Agree with him!"

"What sentiments," exclaimed Mr. Rutledge, "what sentiments for a young republican! Do you mean to tell me that _you_ don't look upon the death-warrant of Charles as the 'Major Charta' of England? Do you mean to say that you don't regard it as the first step in that blessed march of liberty that is regenerating the world?"

"A blessed march indeed!" I cried indignantly, "over the dead bodies of honor and obedience, faith and loyalty! A blessed march, to the tune of the Ma.r.s.eillaise and murder!"

"But, my young friend, how do you make that view of the subject agree with your patriotism as an American, and your veneration for Washington?

Were there no carca.s.ses of deceased obedience and loyalty under his chariot-wheels?"

"_Grace a Dieu_!" I cried, eagerly, "it was Liberty, but Liberty with a different cap on, and marching under very different colors, that Washington fought for; no more the same deity that Cromwell and Robespierre acknowledged, than the idol of the Hindoo is the G.o.d we worship!"

Mr. Rutledge shrugged his shoulders, and begged me to explain the difference to him. And with a vehement mixture of enthusiasm, ignorance and anger, I tried to explain my meaning to him, but, as was not difficult to foresee, made but little headway in my argument, every moment adding to my adversary's coolness and my own impatience. I altogether forgot my diffidence and alarm; I was too angry and excited to think who it was I was talking to; I only knew he was opposing and tripping me up, and saying the most hateful things in the coolest way, and exasperating me to the highest degree, and not being a bit exasperated with all my saucy replies; and it was not till I had exhausted all my combined wrath and logic, that I caught a lurking smile about his mouth, that flashed upon me the conviction that I was entirely the victim of his wit, and that he had just been arguing on the wrong side for the sake of argument and amus.e.m.e.nt.

"After all," I exclaimed, "I believe you think just as I do, and have only been talking so, to draw me out!"

"Why, mademoiselle! How can you suspect me of such duplicity?" he said, with his peculiar short laugh.

And seizing a book, I sank down on the sofa to hide my burning cheeks behind its pages. How angry, frightened and mortified I felt, no words can tell, and every stealthy glance I obtained of my neighbor but added to my vexation. Wholly absorbed in his paper, he seemed to have forgotten all about me and my indignation; and having furnished him with half an hour's amus.e.m.e.nt, I was to be pushed aside to make way for a more serious train of thought, such as was now knitting his brow, and fixing his attention over some political debate or Congressional transaction. I might smooth my ruffled temper at my leisure; no danger of interruption or observation; I might solace myself with what consolation was to be found in the reflection, that whatever I had said savoring of exaggeration or absurdity, was by this time doubtless entirely forgotten by my companion. But it was a slim comfort, and could not displace the angry thought--what business had he to catechise me so; make me stand there, and tell him what books I had read, and then lead me on to say all manner of foolish things? My cheeks glowed at the recollection. There was one comfort; I knew enough now, never to let him have the amus.e.m.e.nt of making me angry again; he should never hear anything but monosyllables from me henceforth; I would be ice and marble when he was by.

Presently there came a low knock at the door, and Kitty appeared, very fresh and rosy from her walk, and entering, laid upon the table some papers and a couple of letters.

"Ah!" said the master, in a tone of satisfaction, reaching out his hand for them, "the mail is late to-night. You may send tea up; we will take it here this evening."

Kitty looked in great astonishment to see me downstairs, but the etiquette of the place forbade anything more on my part than a glance of recognition, and Kitty retired to order tea sent up. Till that refreshment arrived, and was arranged upon the table, Mr. Rutledge devoted himself to the newly-arrived papers, of whose contents he possessed himself with surprising celerity; and before the servant announced that tea was ready, I had watched his eyes scan rapidly every column of every paper; and looking up from the last one as Thomas made his announcement, he laid it aside, and turned toward the table, asking me, with a smile, if I should mind the trouble of pouring out tea. It was an attention, he said, that he was generally obliged to pay to himself, but it would make it much more agreeable if I would take the trouble.

I took my place behind the heavy silver service, and with fingers that trembled very visibly, proceeded, for the first time in my life, to fill that womanly office. Mr. Rutledge looked on silently, and without note or comment received and drank his tea. The toast and cake were unpatronized; Mr. Rutledge, I am inclined to think, forgot them, so absorbed did he appear in his own thoughts; and I, for my part, shrinking behind the urn, considered myself sufficiently taxed in swallowing a cup of tea, which almost choked me, as it was. It was not till the tea-things were removed that Mr. Rutledge allowed himself to open his letters, doing this, as everything else, at great disadvantage, and with some effort, with his left hand. I resumed my book, and did not raise my eyes, till some time having elapsed, Mr. Rutledge, rising, handed me a letter, which he said had come inclosed to him in one he had just received from my aunt. I opened it with considerable interest, and looking up from the reading of it with a smile, met Mr. Rutledge's eye, who said:

"Mrs. Churchill seems to be very much alarmed about you. I think it's quite lucky that she was prevented from coming on in person, for she would have considered herself basely deceived, I am afraid, if she had dropped in upon us this evening; the two objects of her solicitude taking tea comfortably downstairs, in the apparent enjoyment of uninterrupted health. My bandaged arm, I believe, is the only visible reminder of the accident."

"How is it to-day, sir?" I asked, rather faintly.

He looked a little inclined to smile, remembering, no doubt, that this was the first time I had vouchsafed an inquiry concerning it; but he answered very civilly, that it was rather painful: whether old Sartain had made some blunder in setting it, or whether he had not kept it sufficiently quiet, he could not tell. However, he had no doubt it would soon be all right, etc.

Therewith he dismissed the subject; but I could not dismiss so easily, a little feeling of remorse for my selfishness and thoughtlessness; and he had been so careful of _my_ comfort, too! Perhaps from that reflection, I was very prompt to drop my book in my lap, and be very attentive to his first remark, as, pushing away the pile of letters and papers, he leaned thoughtfully back in his chair, and said:

"You have not seen your aunt for a long time, have you?"

"It is rather more than five years, sir, since I have seen her."

"Have you been at school all that time?"

"Yes, sir; I have been there vacations and all. Aunt Edith went away the year after I was put there, and only came back last spring."

"Josephine is considerably older than you, is she not?"

"Just two years, sir; Josephine was nineteen last month, and I shall be seventeen the 28th of December, and Grace is eighteen months younger."

"I suppose you remember them quite well?"

"Not very, sir; I have never seen a great deal of them. We lived in the country, and excepting when we went to town for a visit, we were not together. You met them abroad, did you not, sir?"

"Yes; we travelled through Switzerland together, and I saw them very frequently last winter in Paris."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, eagerly, quite forgetting my dignified resolutions, "do tell me about them. Is Josephine taller than I, and is she pretty?

They say she sings so beautifully! Does she?"

"Where shall I begin?" he said, with a smile. "Such an avalanche of questions overwhelms me. First, as to height; well (thoughtfully), let me consider. It is difficult to judge. Stand up, and let me see how tall you are."

I sprang up, in perfectly good faith, and stood erect before him for three full minutes, while, with a critical eye, he surveyed me from head to foot.

"I should say," he continued very deliberately, while I resumed my seat, "I should say that there was not the difference of an eighteenth of an inch between you."

"Really?" I exclaimed. "Why, isn't that odd! It's very nice, isn't it, for us to be so near alike?"