FullReads

Charlotte glanced her mild eyes at the speaker, but made no reply.

“Your silence, Miss Henly, assures me of the truth of my conjecture.”

“You should never put a disagreeable construction on the acts of another,” said Charlotte, with a sweetness that tended greatly to dissipate the mortification Mr. Delafield really felt, at the same time that he was unwilling to acknowledge it, even to himself.

They were now again interrupted by the music, which continued some time, during which George Morton made his appearance. His coat close buttoned to his throat, and an extra silk handkerchief around his neck, which he removed only after he entered the apartment, immediately arrested the attention of Charlotte Henly. Turning to Maria, she said, in those tones of real interest that never can be mistaken for manner–

“I am afraid that George has suffered from his exposure. Do not ask him to play, for he will be sure to comply.”

“Oh! the chicken has only taken cold,” cried Maria; “If he does not play, what will you do? you came here to hear him only.”

“Has Miss Henly ears for no other performer, then?” asked Seymour Delafield.

“Miss Henly has as many ears as other people,” said Maria, “but she does not condescend to use them on all occasions.”

“Rather say,” cried Charlotte, laughing, “that the want of taste in Miss Henly renders her ears of but little use to her.”

“You are not fond of music, then?” asked the youth, a little vexed at thinking that an accomplishment on which he prided himself would fail to make its usual impression.

“Passionately!” exclaimed Charlotte; then, colouring to the eyes, she added, “at least I sometimes think so, but I believe I am thought to be without taste.”

“Those who think so must want it themselves,” said Seymour, in a low voice; then, obedient to the beck of one of the presiding nymphs, he hastened to take his share in the performance.

“Now Charlotte, you little prude,” whispered her friend, the instant he withdrew, “is he not very, very handsome?”

“Very,” said Charlotte; “more so than any other gentleman I have ever seen.”

“And engaging, and agreeable, and gentlemanlike?”

“Agreeable, and gentlemanlike too.”

“And graceful, and loveable?”

“Graceful, certainly; and, very possible, loveable, to those who know him.”

“Know him!–what more would you know of the man? You see his beauty and elegance–you witness his breeding–you listen to his sense and information–what more is necessary to fall in love with him?”

“Really, I pretend to no reasoning upon the subject at all,” said Charlotte, smiling; “but if you have such an intention, indulge in it freely, I beg of you, for you will not find a rival in me.–But, listen, he is about to play a solo on his flute.”

A man with three hundred thousand dollars may play a solo, but he never can be alone where there are any to listen. The hearts of many throb at the very breathings of wealth through a flute, who would remain callous to the bitterest sighs of poverty. But Delafield possessed other attractions to catch the attention of the audience: his powers on the instrument greatly exceeded those of any of his competitors, and his execution was really wonderful; every tongue was silent, every ear was attentive, and every head nodded approbation, excepting that of our heroine. Delafield, perfectly master of his instrument and the music, fixed his eye on the countenance of Charlotte, and he experienced a thrill at his heart as he witnessed her lovely face smiling approbation, while his fingers glided over the flute with a rapidity and skill that produced an astonishing variety and gradation of sounds. At length, thought he, I have succeeded, and have made an impression on this charming girl that is allied to admiration. The idea gave him spirits for the task, and his performance exceeded any thing the company had ever witnessed before. On laying down the instrument, he approached the place where the friends were sitting, with an exultation in his eyes that was inferior only to modesty in the power to captivate.