"So you are very fond of Miss Lucy?" said he.
"Yes," replied Reginald, dryly, and said no more; for it is a
characteristic of the awfu' bairn to be mute where fluency is
required, voluble where silence.
"I wonder why you love her so much," said David, cunningly. Reginald's
face, instead of brightening with the spirit of explanation, became
instantly lack-luster and dough-like; for, be it known, to the
everlasting discredit of human nature, that his affection and
matrimonial intentions, as they were no secret, so they were the butt
of satire from grown-up persons of both sexes in the house, and of
various social grades; down to the very gardener, all had had a fling
at him. But soon his natural cordiality gained the better of that
momentary reserve. "Well, I'll tell you," said he, "because you have
behaved well all day."
David was all expectation.
"I like her because she has got red cheeks, and does whatever one asks
her."
Oh, breadth of statement! Why was not David one of your repeaters? He
would have gone and told Lucy. I should have liked her to know in what
grand primitive colors peach-bloom and queenly courtesy strike what
Mr. Tennyson is pleased to call "the deep mind of dauntless infancy."
But David Dodd was not a reporter, and so I don't get my way; and how
few of us do! not even Mr. Reginald, whose joyous companionship with
David was now blighted by a footman. At sight of the coming plush,
"There, now!" cried Reginald.
Pages:
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294