spectable practice, and other favourable points about Mr. Tempest, her father never failed to close the conversation by saying,—“Aye, but he’s a mere young visionary.” And why, Mr. Goodchild? Simply for these two reasons: first, because once at a party where they had met, Mr. Tempest had happened to say a few words very displeasing to his prejudices on the “golden age” of German poetry, to which Mr. Goodchild was much attached, and on which he could bear no opposition. Secondly and chiefly, because at the same time he had unfortunately talked of the King of Hayti as a true crowned head—a monarch whom Mr. Goodchild was determined never to acknowledge.
CHAPTER VII.
At last Ida and Mr. Tempest had come to form a regular correspondence together in the following way. The young advocate had conducted a commerce of looks with the lovely girl for a long time and hardly knowing how it began: he had satisfied himself that she looked like an angel: and he grew very anxious to know whether she also talked like one. To ascertain this point, he followed her many a time and up and down many a street: and he bore patiently for her sake all the angry looks of his clients, which seemed to say that he would do more wisely to stay at home and study their causes than to roam about in chace of a pretty girl. Mr. Tempest differed from his clients on this matter: suits at law, said he, have learned to wait: they are used to it: but hearts have not learned to wait, and never will be used to it. However all was in vain. Ida was attended constantly either by her father, or by an old governess: and in either case his scheme was knocked on the head.
At length chance did for him more than he could ever do for himself, and placed him one night at her elbow in the theatre. True it was that her father, whose dislike to him ever since his fatal acknowledgment of the king of Hayti he had not failed to remark, sate on the other side of her: but the devil is in it, thought he, if I cannot steal a march on him the whole night through. As the overture to his scheme therefore he asked in the most respectful manner for the play-bill which Ida held in her hand. On returning it, he said—what a pity that the vanity of the manager should disturb so many excellent parts: the part allotted to himself would have been far better played by several others in the company.
Mr. Tempest was not much delighted on observing that Mr. Goodchild did not receive this remark very propitiously but looked still gloomier than before. The fact was that the manager constantly attended all Mr. Goodchild’s literary parties, professed great deference for his opinions, and was in return pronounced by Mr. Goodchild a man of “exceedingly good taste and accurate judgment.” His first shot, Mr. Tempest saw clearly, had missed fire; and he would have been very glad to have had it back again: for he was thrown into a hideous fright when he saw the deep darkness which was gathering on Mr. Goodchild’s face. Meantime, it was some little support to him under his panic—that in returning the play-bill to Ida, he had ventured to press her hand, and fancied (but it could only be fancy) that she slightly returned the pressure. His enemy, whose thunder now began to break, insisted on giving an importance to his remark which the unfortunate young man himself had never contemplated—having meant it only as an introduction to further conversation, and not at all valuing himself upon it. “A pity! my good Sir?” said Mr. Goodchild: “Why so, my good Sir? On the contrary, my good Sir, on the contrary, I believe it is pretty generally admitted that there is no part whatsoever in which this manager fails to outshine all competitors.”
“Very true, Sir: as you observe, Sir, he outshines all his competitors: and in fact that was just the very remark I wished to make.”
“It was, was it? Well then, upon my word, my good Sir, you took a very odd way to express it. The fact is—young and visionary people of this day are very rash in their judgments. But it is not to be supposed that so admirable a performer
