appeared to me the very medium through whom to make it. The familiar friend of Lotty, to whom that little maiden confessed all her innocent secrets—the companion and fellow-counsellor of Lotty’s parents—this aunt was just the confidant I wanted.
But, beyond this, I felt sure that the state of the case had not altogether escaped the sympathetic penetration of Miss Simms. That faint smile of hers, that wistful look in her fine eyes, a playful shake of the head sometimes, the pressure of a kind hand—these signs had not been lost upon me. Often, when my eyes had been following against their will the graceful buoyant figure of Lotty, recalled, they would meet the eyes of Miss Simms; and as I smiled and half-blushed at being thus caught, Miss Simms would smile and half-blush likewise. Often, when I had been leaning over Lotty at her book, admiring the downward contour of the soft cheek, or the luxuriance of the glossy hair, lifting my eyes, they would again meet Miss Simms’ eyes, and Miss Simms would turn her head away with an expression of countenance which spoke volumes. Once, when I was shaking Miss Simms’ hand on departure, I could not restrain myself from whispering “Qu’elle est charmante?” Why I spoke in French I cannot tell. Miss Simms’ knowledge of that language was imperfect, while Lotty’s exceeded my own—so that it could not have been an aside from Lotty. But such French sentences are generally spoken without there being any satisfactory reason why they should not be uttered in English. However, to my exclamation, Miss Simms had rejoined, “Hush!” with an upraised bony finger, and an arch smile.
In breaking the matter to Lotty’s aunt, then, I did not anticipate very much difficulty. She certainly had observed my admiration of her niece; and even had it been otherwise, the ready sympathy of this kind, estimable woman would have interpreted my meaning from a word or look.
I chose my time. I was copying some music for Lotty. Lotty and her mamma were going forth on the business of card-leaving.
As I took them down to the carriage, Lotty said:
“You will finish my music?” And she made the prettiest beseeching moue, and lifted up her face, just as when a child she had lifted it up to be kissed. “We shall soon be back, and you can stay to dinner. You must stay to dinner. The evenings are so dull and stupid, and then you can sing that duet with me. Now, go back and finish the music. You and Aunt Sarah can talk poetry, you know, till I come back.”
Yes, Miss Lotty, I had that very intention of talking poetry with Aunt Sarah—the sweetest poetry in the world—yourself the theme.
Returned to Miss Simms and the music-copying, I made a crotchet—“Miss Simms,” I said—then two semiquavers and a rest, then three blank bars—
“Miss Simms,” I said, “I hope you will not see anything absurd in what I am about to—to—to lay before you—” crescendo, written in neat italics.
“My heart—”
“Dear me!” cried Miss Simms.
“My heart, my dear Miss Simms, may be of a soft and foolish texture—yes, texture.” (I had screwed myself up to the mark, and chose my language with deliberation.) “It may be soft, I say, but, upon my soul, I do not think it is. I think no man, the most insensate, could have seen daily, as I have seen, this sweet girl” (con molto spirito) “and have resisted her attractions. It does not lie within the power of human nature to resist them.”
I was silent for a few minutes, and steadily continued my copying. I had determined to discuss the subject in the calmest and most reasonable manner. I confess the dots were scarcely circular, and the strokes scarcely straight, but I completed a most prodigious series of running notes ad libitum before I recommenced. I dared not look at Miss Simms.
“That there is disparity in age I cannot deny. Some people would call it a great disparity—”
“Sir!” cried Miss Simms, with some warmth.
“Yes, my dear madam, I am not surprised at that tone. But I feel that I must bring this into prominence, and consider it judicially. I am not a young man. I cannot hide it from myself, even if I would—I am no longer young. Perhaps I have an appearance of age, a gravity, beyond my actual years. I entreat you not to forget that point—it is a point that we must fully grasp—and I wish to impress it on your mind that I have thoroughly weighed this, and thrown every possible argument into the scale that opposes me. This is but just.”
“I think enough has been said on that part of the subject,” Miss Simms interrupted me. “You lay too much stress on this point, and must be labouring, I think, under some strange misconception. After all, what does age matter—a few months more or less. It is the heart, my dear sir, the heart; the sympathy of affections, the reciprocity of ideas, the congeniality of sentiments—”
“It is like you to say so,” I exclaimed. “I appreciate your kindness. We are old friends, Miss Simms—”
“Friends of long standing,’ Miss Simms agreed, correctively.
“Friends of long standing. I knew that you would understand me. I felt that you were the best person, the only person, to whom I could first break this delicate subject. I knew that you would meet me half-way.”
“Oh! do not say that,” sighed Lotty’s aunt.
“You have seen the truth for some time,” I went on. “In your eyes, in your smiles, I have read that you had discovered my secret. Woman’s insight, the sympathy of a gentle nature—who can disguise such secrets from these? And now, be frank with me. I come to you in my perplexity. Do not pretend to misunderstand me. My tongue is timid. Help me—advise me!”
“Maidenly propriety!” she said, in a low tone.
“Exactly so. Your good sense and instinctive feeling of what is right prompts those words. I anticipated this. But, my dear Miss Simms, I do not wish to make you a conspirator with
