"Oh, certainly, you may ask," Hoffland replied, smiling; "though it may appear very vain to you--my reason."

"Hum!" said Denis, not knowing what to think of his new acquaintance, whose quizzing manner, to use the technical word, did not please him.

"I told Mowbray very frankly, however, why I could not come this evening," pursued Hoffland, with the air of one child teasing another; "and I think he appreciated my reason. I was afraid on Miss Lucy's account."

"Afraid!"

"Yes."

"On Lucy's account!"

"On _Miss_ Lucy's account," said Hoffland, emphasizing the "Miss."

"Oh, well, sir," said Denis, with a slight air of coldness; "I don't deny that I was wrong in so speaking of a lady, but I don't see that _you_ had the right to correct me."

"Why, Mr. Denis," said Hoffland smiling, "you take my little speeches too seriously."

"No, sir; and if I showed some hastiness of temper, excuse me--I believe it is my failing."

"Oh, really now! no apologies," said Hoffland laughing; "I am not aware that you were out of temper--though that is not an unusual thing with men. And now, having settled the question of the proper manner to address or speak of Miss Lucy, I will go on and tell you--as you seemed interested--why I did not feel myself at liberty to accept Mr.

Mowbray's invitation--or Ernest's: I call him Ernest, and he calls me Charles."

"You seem to be well acquainted with him," said Denis.

"Oh, we are sworn friends!--of four days' standing."

Denis looked at his companion with great curiosity.

"Mowbray--the most reserved of men in friendship!" he muttered.

"Ah," replied Hoffland, whose quick ear caught these words; "but I am not a common person, Mr. Denis. Remember that."

"Indeed?" said Denis, again betraying some coolness at his companion's satirical manner: his manner alone was satirical--the words, as we may perceive, were scarcely so.

"Yes," continued Hoffland, "and I am an exception to all general rules--just as Crichton was."

"Crichton?"

"Yes; the admirable Crichton."

And having uttered this conceited sentence with a delightful little toss of the head, Hoffland laughed.

Denis merely inclined his head coldly. He was becoming more and more averse to this companion every moment.

"But we were speaking of Roseland, and my reasons for not accepting Mowbray's invitation," pursued Hoffland, smiling; "the reason may surprise you."

"Possibly, if you will tell me what it is," said Denis.

"Why, it is the simplest thing in the world. I come from the mountains, you know."

"No, I did not know it before, sir," replied Denis.

"Well, such at least is the fact. Now, in the mountains, you know, the girls are prettier, and the men handsomer."

"I know nothing of the sort," replied Denis coldly.

"Very well," Hoffland replied; "as I have just said, such is nevertheless the fact."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Certainly. Now I am a fair specimen of the mountain men."

Denis looked at his companion with an expression of contempt which he could not repress. Hoffland did not appear to observe it, but went on in the same quizzing tone--for we can find no other word--which he had preserved from the commencement of the interview.

"Feeling that Miss Lucy had probably not seen any one like myself," he said, "I was naturally anxious that her brother should prepare her."

"Mr. Hoffland!"

"Sir?"

"Nothing, sir!"

And Denis choked down his rising anger. Hoffland did not observe it, but continued as coolly as ever:

"You know how much curiosity the fair s.e.x have," he said, "and my plan was for Mowbray to describe me beforehand to his sister--as I know he will."

"Pardon me, sir," said Denis coldly; "but I do not perceive your drift. Doubtless it arises from my stupidity, but such is the fact, to use your favorite expression."

"Why, it is much plainer than any pikestaff," Hoffland replied, laughing; "listen, and I will explain. Mowbray will return home this evening, and after tea he will say to his sister, 'I have a new friend at college, Lucy--the handsomest, brightest, most amiable and fascinating youth I ever saw.' You see he will call me a 'youth;'

possibly this may excite Miss Lucy's curiosity, and she will ask more about me; and then Mowbray will of course expatiate on my various and exalted merits, as every warm-hearted man does when he speaks of his friends. Then Miss Lucy will imagine for herself a _beau ideal_ of grace, elegance, beauty, intelligence and wit, far more than human.

She will fall in love with it--and then, when she is hopelessly entangled in this pa.s.sion for the creation of her fancy, I will make my appearance. Do you not understand now, sir?"

Denis frowned and muttered a reply which it had been well for Hoffland to have heard.

"I think it very plain," continued the young man; "with all those graces of mind and person which a kind Providence has bestowed upon me, I still feel that I could expect nothing but defeat, contending with the ideal of a young girl's heart. Oh, sir, you can't imagine how fanciful they are--believe me, women very seldom fall in love with real men: it is the image of their dreams which they sigh over and long to meet. This is all that they really love."

"Ah?" said Denis, in a freezing tone.

"Yes," Hoffland said; "and applying this reasoning to the present subject, you cannot fail to understand my motives for refusing Mowbray's kind invitation. Once in love with my shadow, Lucy will not fall in love with me. To tell you the truth, I could not afford to have her----"

"Mr. Hoffland!"

"Why, Mr. Denis--did any thing hurt you? Perhaps----"

"It was nothing, sir!" said Denis, with a flushed face.

"Well, to conclude," said Hoffland; "I could not accept Lucy's love were she to offer it to me, and for this reason I have staid away. I am myself fettered by another object; I could not marry her were she to fall sick for love of me, and beg me on her knees to accept her hand and heart--I really could not!"