the room,’ said Charles.
‘I would drive him in it, and tell William to ride in and be at hand to hold the pony or take it out; and the tent is so near, that you could get to the breakfast, unless the review had been enough for you. I paced the distance to make sure, and it is no further than from the garden-door to the cherry-tree.’
‘That is nothing,’ said Charles.
‘And William shall be in waiting to bring the pony the instant you are ready, and we can go home independently of every one else.’
‘I thought,’ interposed Mrs. Edmonstone, ‘that you were to go to the mess-dinner—what is to become of that?’
‘O,’ said Charles, ‘that will be simply a bore, and he may rejoice to be excused from going the whole hog.’
‘To be sure, I had rather dine in peace at home.’
Mrs. Edmonstone was not happy, but she had great confidence in Guy; and her only real scruple was, that she did not think it fair to occupy him entirely with attendance on her son. She referred it to papa, which, as every one knew, was the same as yielding the point, and consoled herself by the certainty that to prevent it would be a great disappointment to both the youths. Laura was convinced that to achieve the adventure of Charles at the review, was at present at least a matter of far more prominence with Guy than anything relating to herself.
All but Laura and her mother were wild about the weather, especially on Wednesday, when there was an attempt at a thunder storm. Nothing was studied but the sky; and the conversation consisted of prognostications, reports of rises and falls of the glass, of the way weather-cocks were turning, or about to turn, of swallows flying high or low, red sunsets, and halos round the moon, until at last Guy, bursting into a merry laugh, begged Mrs. Edmonstone’s pardon for being such a nuisance, and made a vow, and kept it, that be the weather what it might, he would say not another word about it that evening; it deserved to be neglected, for he had not been able to settle to anything all day.
He might have said for many days before; for since the last ball, and still more since Lady Eveleen had been at Hollywell, it had been one round of merriment and amusement. Scrambling walks, tea-drinkings out of doors, dances among themselves, or with the addition of the Harpers, were the order of the day. Amy, Eveleen, and Guy, could hardly come into the room without dancing, and the piano was said to acknowledge nothing but waltzes, polkas, and now and then an Irish jig, for the special benefit of Mr. Edmonstone’s ears. The morning was almost as much spent in mirth as the afternoon, for the dawdlings after breakfast, and before luncheon, had a great tendency to spread out and meet, there was new music and singing to be practised, or preparations made for evening’s diversion, or councils to be held, which Laura’s absence could not break up, though it often made Amy feel how much less idle and frivolous Laura was than herself. Eveleen said the same, but she was visiting, and it was a time to be idle; and Mr. Lascelles seemed to be of the same opinion with regard to his pupil; for, when Guy was vexed at not having done as much work as usual, he only laughed at him for expecting to be able to go to balls, and spend a summer of gaiety, while he studied as much as at Oxford.
Thursday morning was all that heart could wish, the air cooled by the thunder, and the clouds looking as if raining was foreign to their nature. Mr. and Mrs. Edmonstone, their daughters, and Lady Eveleen, were packed inside and outside the great carriage, while Guy, carefully settling Charles in the low phaeton, putting in all that any one recommended, from an air-cushion to an umbrella, flourished his whip, and drove off with an air of exultation and delight.
Everything went off to admiration. No one was more amused than Charles. The scene was so perfectly new and delightful to one accustomed to such a monotonous life, that the very sight of people was a novelty. Nowhere was there so much laughing and talking as in that little carriage, and whenever Mrs. Edmonstone’s anxious eye fell upon it, she always saw Charles sitting upright, with a face so full of eager interest as to banish all thought of fatigue. Happy, indeed, he was. He enjoyed the surprise of his acquaintance at meeting him; he enjoyed Dr. Mayerne’s laugh and congratulation; he enjoyed seeing how foolish Philip thought him, nodding to his mother and sisters, laughing at the dreadful faces Guy could not help making at any particularly discordant note of the offensive bugle; and his capabilities rising with his spirits, he did all that the others did, walked further than he had done for years, was lifted up steps without knowing how, sat out the whole breakfast, talked to all the world, and well earned the being thoroughly tired, as he certainly was when Guy put him into the carriage and drove him home, and still more so when Guy all but carried him up stairs, and laid him on the sofa in the dressing-room.
However, his mother announced that it would have been so unnatural if he had not been fatigued, that she should have been more anxious, and leaving him to repose, they all, except Mr. Edmonstone, who had stayed to dine at the mess, sat down to dinner.
Amy came down dressed just as the carriage had been announced, and found Laura and Eveleen standing by the table, arranging their bouquets, while Guy, in the dark, behind the piano, was playing—not, as usual, in such cases, the Harmonious Blacksmith, but a chant.
‘Is mamma ready?’ asked Laura.
‘Nearly,’ said Amy, ‘but I wish she was not obliged to go! I am sure she cannot bear to leave Charlie.’
‘I hope she is not going on my account,’ said Eveleen.
‘No, said Laura, ‘we must go; it would so frighten papa if we did not come. Besides, there is nothing to be uneasy about with Charles.’
‘O no,’ said Amy; ‘she says so, only she is always anxious, and she is afraid he is too restless to go to sleep.’
‘We must get home as fast as we can; if you don’t mind, Eva,’ said Laura, remembering how her last dance with Guy had delayed them.
‘Can I do any good to Charlie?’ said Guy, ceasing his music. I don’t mean to go.’
‘Not go!’ cried the girls in consternation.
‘He is joking!’ said Eveleen. ‘But, I declare!’ added she, advancing towards him, ‘he is not dressed! Come, nonsense, this is carrying it too far; you’ll make us all too late, and then I’ll set Maurice at you.’
‘I am afraid it is no joke,’ said Guy, smiling.
‘You must go. It will never do for you to stay away,’ said Laura, decidedly.
‘Are you tired? Aren’t you well?’ asked Amy.
‘Quite well, thank you, but I am sure I had better not.’
Laura thought she had better not seem anxious to take him, so she left the task of persuasion, to the others, and Amy went on.
‘Neither Mamma nor Charlie could bear to think you stayed because of him.’
‘I don’t, I assure you, Amy. I meant it before. I have been gradually finding out that it must come to this.’
‘Oh, you think it a matter of right and wrong! But you don’t think balls wrong?’
‘Oh no; only they won’t do for such an absurd person as I am. The last turned my head for a week, and I am much too unsteady for this.’
‘Well, if you think it a matter of duty, it can’t be helped,’ said Amy sorrowfully; ‘but I am very sorry.’
‘Thank you,’ said Guy, thinking it compassion, not regret; ‘but I shall do very well. I shall be all the happier to-morrow for a quiet hour at my Greek, and you’ll tell me all the fun.’
‘You liked it so much!’ said Amy; ‘but you have made up your mind and I ought not to tease you.’
‘That’s right Amy; he does it on purpose to be teased,’ said Eveleen, ‘and I never knew anybody so provoking. Mind, Sir Guy, if you make us all too late, you shan’t have the ghost of a quadrille with me.’
‘I shall console myself by quadrilling with Andromache,’