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As Mowbray was about to ascend the steps beyond the statue, a young man came down and greeted him familiarly. Mowbray turned round and said: "Mr. Denis, are you acquainted with Mr. Hoffland?" And then the new-comer and the young student courteously saluted each other, smiled politely, and shook hands.
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.
They smile, and man kneels; they weep, and his moral judgment is effaced like a shadow: he is soft clay in their hands. One caress from a girl makes a fool of a giant. Have you read the history of Samson?" "Vile misogynist!" said Hoffland, "you are really too bad!" Mowbray smiled sadly.
"Why, it is much plainer than any pikestaff," Hoffland replied, laughing; "listen, and I will explain.
"No, I will promote you," Hoffland answered, smiling; "you shall have this finger, one rank above the little finger, you see." And he held up his left hand, touching the third finger. Then the boy turned away and laughed as merrily and carelessly as before the disagreeable events of the evening. Mowbray looked at him with a faint smile.
"Was it my fault?" replied the boy, in a reproachful tone. "I don't know; your relation is so general, you descend so little to particulars, that I have not been able to form an opinion of the amount of blame which attaches to each." "Blame!" said Hoffland. "Oh, Ernest! you are not a true friend." "Why, Charles?" "You do not espouse my part." Mowbray uttered a sigh of dissatisfaction.
The young men strolled across to the tree which Mowbray had indicated, and sat down on a wicker seat which was placed at its foot. "Mr. Mowbray said you could tell me about Roseland," Hoffland said, raising his dark eyes as was his habit beneath his low-drooping hat; "I am sure it is a pretty place from his description is it not?" "Oh, beautiful!" said Denis warmly; "you should go and see it."
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 passion 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.
Charles! may you never know what it is to see a false smile in woman cold and chilling the glitter of sunlight upon snow. It is worse than frowns!" "Ernest, you are a strange person," said Hoffland; "you seem determined to misjudge this young girl, who is not as bad as you think her, my life upon it! So, frown or smile, you are determined to hate her?" "I do not hate her!
"And I also have my studies," said Hoffland; "I think I will return with you, Mr. Denis." "You came to stay, Charles! You shall both stay," said Mowbray, "and I will give you Blackstone's " "No, really, Ernest," said Hoffland, with a business air which made Lucy laugh. "And indeed I must return," said Denis, sighing. "Ah, gentlemen, gentlemen!" said Mowbray, "you pay a fashionable call.
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