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I have known him explain, and re-explain, for a quarter of an hour, and invariably without success. It might be a mere pun; Mrs. Poppleton no more understood the nature of a pun than of the binomial theorem. But worse was when the jest involved some allusion. When I heard Poppleton begin to elucidate, to expound, the perspiration already on his forehead, I looked at him with imploring anguish.
"It ought to make me behave very well," she was saying now to herself, "to have before me the alternative of not being regarded with serious intentions. I wonder if it is Mr. Poppleton or Francis Barold who might not regard me seriously. And I wonder if they are any coarser in America than we can be in England when we try."
The Governor, after examining the gunner on oath, and having had him carefully searched, gave him leave to see Napoleon, but Captain Poppleton was ordered not to allow him to speak to the French unless in his presence. This arbitrary condition was resented with quiet, scornful dignity, and the gunner was asked to withdraw.
"'Different' is a very good word," he said, laughing. "It isn't a very bad one," she returned, "and it expresses a good deal." "It does indeed," he commented. "Look at Mr. Poppleton and Octavia," she began. "Have you got to 'Octavia'?" he inquired. She looked down and blushed. "I shall not say 'Octavia' to grandmamma." Then suddenly she glanced up at him. "That is sly, isn't it?" she said.
'Yet I should have suggested another explanation, remarked the young man, in his most discreet tone, 'You never met Mrs. Poppleton? Seeing that Miss Nunn had looked up with interest, he addressed himself to her.
Several times much comment had been aroused by the fact that Lucia Gaston had been observed to form one of the party of players. She had indeed played with Barold, against Octavia and Mr. Poppleton, on the memorable day upon which that gentleman had taken his first lesson.
Francis Barold, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that they should be offered; she joked in what Mrs. Burnham designated "her Nevada way" with the Rev. Arthur Poppleton, who appeared more frequently than had been his habit at the high teas. She played croquet with that gentleman and Mr.
Poppleton would say something that convulsed me with laughter in spite of my efforts, for I always dreaded the result so much that I strove my hardest to do no more than smile appreciation. My laugh compelled Mrs. Poppleton to stare at me oh, her eyes I Thereupon, her husband began his dread performance. The patience, the heroic patience, of that dear, good fellow!
Alfred Poppleton was the last man who shook hands with her. He held in his hand a large bouquet, which Octavia herself had given him out of her abundance. "Slowbridge will miss you, Miss Mrs. Belasys," he faltered. "I I shall miss you. Perhaps we may even meet again. I have thought that, perhaps, I should like to go to America."
Ah! how different were my feelings as I sat proudly there on the box by the side of Jim Ward, the coachman, to those I had the last time I mounted that coach, parting from my dear Mary and coming to London with my DIAMOND PIN! Poppleton himself, was come into the country, so great was the concourse of people assembled round the inn.
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