"Ah, well!" returned the young lady; "I do not wish to under-value your friend—I see you are half affronted—but a favourite of mine my cousin never was, nor never can be. He is far too selfish."
Charles felt a most ungenerous sensation of pleasure, which however he checked, and magnanimously resolved to change the subject.
"I wonder at seeing a guitar," said he, "as you say you have no musical friends?"
"I do not keep my guitar," replied Caroline, laughing, "for my friends—but for myself!"
"But of what use is it to you?" asked the invalid.
"Not of much use, certainly; but a great deal of pleasure!"
"Pleasure!—what pleasure?"
"Oh, you may not be fond of music—but I am."
"Still, as you do not play it—I do not comprehend the good of the instrument."
"But I do play it!" interrupted Caroline.
"Why!" exclaimed Charles, "you told me, the first evening, that you did not play!"
"Ah, I thought that you meant tredille!"
Bouverie almost sprang from the sofa.
"My dear Miss Langham, I am so passionately fond of music; do lay by your knitting and take your guitar!"
"With pleasure, if it will keep you quiet!" So saying, with equal grace and simplicity, she began to sing an Italian barcarolle.
The light fell on her face, which was turned towards her listener, who perceived for the first time how very pretty it was. The fact was, that he had never looked at her before. We need pursue the subject no farther:—a lady—a guitar—and a wounded cavalier—can have but one denouement—a declaration—and it came in due time; that is, before the week was out.
"You must let me speak to your aunt," said Charles Bouverie, the morning after.
"My dear aunt!" said Caroline, blushing one of those sweet bright blushes which so soon forsake the cheek; "you must not mind a little opposition at first."
"She favours Mr. Langham then?"
"Certainly not;" but colouring still more deeply, "your want of fortune——!"
"My want of fortune!" cried Charles; "why I am all but a millionaire!"
The matter was soon explained. Horace had brought his friend down half as a convenience—half as a foil—and to prevent any possible danger, had represented him as poor: all mistakes were soon cleared up. Settlements and diamonds—blond and britska were arranged with all possible despatch; and Mr. and Mrs. Bouverie were soon announced as "the happy pair, gone during the honey-moon to Paris." The only regret heard on the subject was one expressed by Horace Langham—"Very provoking a man must not marry his aunt! Now that Caroline is so well provided for, my aunt is a speculation well worth consideration."
