"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.
"Certainly, Mr.Delafield," cried Maria Osgood, "you have outdone your own outdoings.""If I have been so fortunate as to please here, then I am rewarded indeed," said the youth, with a bow and an expression that rendered it a little doubtful to which of the ladies the compliment was addressed.At this instant, George Morton approached them.
"Mr.Delafield, let me make you acquainted with Mr.Morton," said Maria, glancing her eye at the former in a manner that he understood.
"I have great pleasure in taking Mr.Morton by the hand," said Seymour, "if he will excuse the want of ceremony in this company.The lesson that you gave to me yesterday, sir, will not soon be forgotten.""In what manner, sir?" inquired George, with a little embarrassment and a conscious blush.
"In teaching me, among others, Mr.Morton, the difference between active and passive humanity-- between that which is satisfied with feeling, and that which prompts to serve."To this unexpected compliment young Morton could do no more than bow in silence, for it was too flattering for a reply--and too true to deny.As Delafield turned his eye, at a little loss to know whether to be pleased or not with his own humility, he met a look from Charlotte that more than rewarded him for the effort.It was a mild, benevolent, pure glance, that spoke admiration and heartfelt pleasure.He forgot his solo, and the expected compliments; and, for the rest of the evening, that thrilling expression floated in his brain, and was present to his thoughts; it was worth a thousand of the studied glances that were continually aimed at him from all sides of the room, and with every variety of eye--from the piercing black, to the ogling gray.It was a look that came directly from, and went to, the heart.If young ladies always knew how nicely nature has qualified the other sex to judge of their actions, what multitudes of astonishingly expressive glances, and artfully contrived gestures and movements, would sink down into looks, that indicated feelings and motives, that were adapted to the occasion! What trouble in creating incidents that might draw out charms would be avoided! And, in short, how much extra labour, both of body and mind, would be spared!
This agreeable contemplation of Mr.Delafield was soon interrupted by the cheerful voice of Maria Osgood, who cried--"Bless me, George, you really do look ill.""It is seldom that I have much health to boast of," replied the youth, in a feeble voice, and with a still feebler smile.
"But," said Maria, without reflecting, "you look worse than usual."There was so much truth in this remark, that the young man could only smile in silence, while Seymour, surveying the very plain exterior of his new acquaintance, turned his eyes with additional satisfaction towards a mirror that reflected his own form from head to feet.
"You will not attempt the flute to-night, George?" said Charlotte."I believe I must, or not fulfil my engagement to Mrs.Osgood.""Surely," continued Charlotte, in a low tone to her friend, "George had better not play, looking so ill as he does.""Certainly not; besides, his performance would not shine after that of Mr.Delafield."Seymour overheard this speech, which was really intended only for the ear of Charlotte, and he was instantly seized with an unaccountable desire to hear the flute of Mr.Morton.Seymour was conscious that he played well, and could he have forgotten the indifference that Miss Henly exhibited to his performance, would have been abundantly flattered with the encomiums that were lavished on his skill.
