Why Laura, how your cheeks burn!" exclaimed Mrs. Arnot as she entered her niece's room one afternoon.
"Now, don't laugh at me for being so foolish, but I have become absurdly excited over this story. Scott was well called the 'Wizard of the North.' What a spell he weaves over his pages! When reading some of his descriptions of men and manners in those old chivalric times, I feel that I have been born some centuries too late--in our time everything is so matter-of-fact, and the men are so prosaic. The world moves on with a steady business jog, or, to change the figure, with the monotonous clank of uncle's machinery. My castle in the air would be the counterpart of those which Scott describes."
"Romantic as ever," laughed her aunt; "and that reminds me, by the way, of the saying that romantic girls always marry matter-of-fact men, which, I suppose, will be your fate. I confess I much prefer our own age. Your stony castles make me shiver with a sense of discomfort; and as for the men, I imagine they are much the same now as then, for human nature does not change much."
"O, auntie, what a prosaic speech! Uncle might have made it himself. The idea of men being much the same now! Why, in that day there were the widest and most picturesque differences between men of the same rank. There were horrible villains, and then to vanquish these and undo the mischief they were ever causing, there were knights sans peur et sans reproche. But now a gentleman is a gentleman, and all made up very much in the same style, like their dress coats. I would like to have seen at least one genuine knight--a man good enough and brave enough to do and to dare anything to which he could be impelled by a most chivalric sense of duty. About the most heroic thing a man ever did for me was to pick up my fan."
Mrs. Arnot thought of one man whose heart was almost breaking for her, and yet who maintained such a quiet, masterful self-control that the object of his passion, which had become like a torturing flame, was not subjected to even the slightest annoyance; and she said, "You are satirical today. In my opinion there are as true knights now as your favorite author ever described."
"Not in Hillaton," laughed Laura, "or else their disguise is perfect."
"Yes, in Hillaton," replied Mrs. Arnot, with some warmth, "and among the visitors at this house. I know of one who bids fair to fulfil my highest ideal of knighthood, and I think you will do me the justice to believe that my standard is not a low one."