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Carstone tells me, and I have every reason to believe, is, if perhaps not so seriously inclined nor yet a church communicant, still of a character and reputation not unworthy to follow my dear Tappington in our little family circle as he has at his desk in the bank."
"Oh dear, no!" she returned, with her frightened glance; "I only heard him say some people preferred that kind of thing to sacred music, and one day I saw a copy of it in a music-store window in Clay Street, and bought it. Oh no! Tappington didn't teach it to me."
"I saw YOU ever so long ago." He stammered, with an equal simplicity, that he had not dared to. She looked a little frightened again, and then said hurriedly: "I only thought that I would meet you on Montgomery Street, and we would walk home together. I don't like to go out alone, and mother cannot always go with me. Tappington never cared to take me out I don't know why.
Stay, stay, my sweet young lady; do not let the fervor of your feelings run away with you! I do not pretend to say, indeed, that one or more of these pretty subjects might not have been introduced; but the most important and leading topic of the conference was Lieutenant Seaforth's breeches. "Caroline," said Charles, "I have had some very odd dreams since I have been at Tappington."
"Are you sure?" asked Herbert involuntarily, as he recalled his mysterious visitor. "I believe the Vigilance Committee has considered it a public duty to deport her and her confederates beyond the State," returned Carstone dryly. Another idea flashed upon Herbert. "And the gambler who advanced the money to save Tappington?" he said breathlessly.
He stared at the monumental crystal ink-stand half full of ink, yet spotless and free from stains, that stood on the table, and tried to picture Tappington daintily dipping into it to thank the fair donors "daughters of Rebecca." Who were they? and what sort of man would they naturally feel grateful to? What was that?
Look here, Johnny, what are you putting on all this side for, eh? What's your little game? Where's Tappington?" "If you mean Mr. Brooks, the son of this house, who formerly lived in this room," replied Herbert, with a formal precision intended to show a doubt of the stranger's knowledge of Tappington, "you ought to know that he has left town."
"That would be taking a walk with you like these young girls and their young men on Saturdays. That's what Ellen does with the butcher's boy on Sundays. Tappington often used to meet them. Doing the 'Come, Philanders, as he says you call it."
The stranger stared at him for a moment, again looked carefully round the room, and then suddenly dropped his head back on the pillow, and with his white hands over his eyes and mouth tried to restrain a spasm of silent laughter. After an effort he succeeded, wiped his moist eyes, and sat up. "So you didn't know Tappington, eh?" he said, lazily buttoning his collar. "No." "No more do I."
He was suffering from that extravagant conception of what worldliness consists of, so common to very good people with no knowledge of the world. Compared to Tappington he was in their eyes, of course, a rake and a roue. The explanation pleased him. He would not keep it to himself. He would gain Cherry's confidence and enlist her sympathies.
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