The New Magdalen - Page 45/209

"Let me entreat you to favor me by resuming your seat," he said. "And

let me ask your pardon if I have thoughtlessly intruded on you."

He paused, waiting for her reply before he advanced into the room. Still

spell-bound by his voice, she recovered self-control enough to bow to

him and to resume her place on the sofa. It was impossible to leave

him now. After looking at her for a moment, he entered the room without

speaking to her again. She was beginning to perplex as well as to

interest him. "No common sorrow," he thought, "has set its mark on that

woman's face; no common heart beats in that woman's breast. Who can she

be?"

Mercy rallied her courage, and forced herself to speak to him.

"Lady Janet is in the library, I believe," she said, timidly. "Shall I

tell her you are here?"

"Don't disturb Lady Janet, and don't disturb yourself." With that answer

he approached the luncheon-table, delicately giving her time to feel

more at her ease. He took up what Horace had left of the bottle of

claret, and poured it into a glass. "My aunt's claret shall represent

my aunt for the present," he said, smiling, as he turned toward her once

more. "I have had a long walk, and I may venture to help myself in this

house without invitation. Is it useless to offer you anything?"

Mercy made the necessary reply. She was beginning already, after her

remarkable experience of him, to wonder at his easy manners and his

light way of talking.

He emptied his glass with the air of a man who thoroughly understood

and enjoyed good wine. "My aunt's claret is worthy of my aunt," he said,

with comic gravity, as he set down the glass. "Both are the genuine

products of Nature." He seated himself at the table and looked

critically at the different dishes left on it. One dish especially

attracted his attention. "What is this?" he went on. "A French pie! It

seems grossly unfair to taste French wine and to pass over French pie

without notice." He took up a knife and fork, and enjoyed the pie as

critically as he had enjoyed the wine. "Worthy of the Great Nation!" he

exclaimed, with enthusiasm. "_Vive la France!_"

Mercy listened and looked, in inexpressible astonishment. He was utterly

unlike the picture which her fancy had drawn of him in everyday life.

Take off his white cravat, and nobody would have discovered that this

famous preacher was a clergyman!

He helped himself to another plateful of the pie, and spoke more

directly to Mercy, alternately eating and talking as composedly and

pleasantly as if they had known each other for years.

"I came here by way of Kensington Gardens," he said. "For some time past

I have been living in a flat, ugly, barren, agricultural district. You

can't think how pleasant I found the picture presented by the Gardens,

as a contrast. The ladies in their rich winter dresses, the smart

nursery maids, the lovely children, the ever moving crowd skating on the

ice of the Round Pond; it was all so exhilarating after what I have been

used to, that I actually caught myself whistling as I walked through the

brilliant scene! (In my time boys used always to whistle when they were

in good spirits, and I have not got over the habit yet.) Who do you

think I met when I was in full song?"