“You are not a poor atom; you are the best, and the cleverest, and most learnedest, and most beautifullest lady as ever was seen in the whole of the land.”
After or rather in the middle of which words, our Bunny, with her usual vigour and true national ardour, leaped into the arms of Delushy, so that they had a good cry together. “You will wait, of course, for your Granny to come, before you settle anything.”
“Will I, indeed?” cried that wicked Bunny, and lucky for her that I was not there: “I shall do nothing of the sort. If he chooses to be always away at sea, conquering the French forever, and never coming home when he can help it, he must make up his mind to be surprised when he happens to come home again. For sure then, that is right enough.”
“Well, it does seem almost reasonable,” answered the young lady: “and I think sometimes that we have no right to expect so much as that of things. It is not what they often do; and so they lose the habit of it.”
“I do not quite understand,” said Bunny.
“And I don’t half understand,” said Bardie:—“but—oh my dear, what shall I do? He is coming this way, I am sure. And I would not have you know anything of it—and of course you must feel that it is all nonsense. And I did not mean any harm about ‘courting;’ only you ought to be out of the way, and yet at the same time in it.”
Our Bunny was such a slow-witted girl, and at the same time so particular (inheriting slowness from her good mother, and conscience from third generation), that really she could make no hand at meeting such a crisis. For now she began to perceive gold-lace, which alone discomfits the woman-race, and sets their minds going upon what they love. And so she did very little else but stare.
“I did think you would have helped me, Bunny,” Delushy cried, with aggrievement. “I wanted to hear your own affairs, of course; but I would not have brought you here—”
“Young ladies, well met!” cried as solid a voice as the chops of the Channel had ever tautened: “I knew that you were here, and so I came down to look after you.”
“Sure then, sir, and I do think that it is very kind of you. We was just awanting looking after. Oh what a fish I do see in that pool! Please only you now both to keep back. I shall be back again, now just, sir.” With these words away flew Bunny, as if her life were set on it.
“What a fine creature, to be sure!” said Commander Bluett, thoughtfully; “she reminds me so much of her grandfather. There is something so strongly alike between them, in their reckless outspoken honour, as well as in the turn of the nose they have.”
“Let us follow, and admire her a little more,” cried Delushy: “she deserves it, as you say; and perhaps—well perhaps she likes it.”
Young Rodney looked at her a little while, and then at the ground a little while; because he was a stupid fellow as concerns young women. He thought this one such a perfect wonder, as may well be said of all of them. Then those two fenced about a little, out of shot of each other’s eyes.
There was no doubt between them as to the meaning of each other. But they both seemed to think it wise to have a little bit of vexing before doing any more. And thus they looked at one another as if there was nothing between them. And all the time, how they were longing!
“I must have yes or no:” for Rodney could not outlast the young lady: “yes or no; you know what I mean. I am almost always at sea; and tomorrow I start to join Nelson. With him there is no play-work. I hope to satisfy him, though I know what he is to satisfy. But I hope to do it.”
“Of course you will,” Delushy answered. “You seem to give great satisfaction; almost everywhere, I am sure.”
“Do I give it, you proud creature, where I long to give it most?”
“How can I pretend to say, without being told in what latitude even—as I think your expression is—this amiable desire lies?”
“As if you did not know, Delushy!”
“As if I did know, Captain Bluett! And another thing—I am not to be called ‘Delushy,’ much, in that way.”
“Very well, then; much in another way. Delushy, Delushy, delicious Delushy, what makes you so unkind to me? Tomorrow I go away, and perhaps we shall never meet again, Delushy: and then how you would reproach yourself. Don’t you think you would now?”
“When never and then come together—yes. I suppose all sailors talk so.”
“If I cannot even talk to please you, there is nothing more to say. I think that the bards have turned your head with their harpings, and their fiddle-strings, and ballads (in very bad Welsh, no doubt) about ‘the charming maid of Sker;’ and so on. When you are old enough to know better, and the young conceit wears out of you, you may be sorry, Miss Andalusia, for your wonderful cleverness.”
He made her a bow with his handsome hat, and her warm young heart was chilled by it. Surely he ought to have shaken hands. She tried to keep her own meaning at home, and bid him farewell with a curtsy, while he tried not to look back again; but fortune or nature was too much for them, and their eyes met wistfully.
These things are out of my line so much, that I cannot pretend to say now for
