idered that he did not
take life with sufficient seriousness; the two verdicts were the same.
But the people most interested in him had almost unanimously agreed in
that theory, of which mention has been already made, about the "nice
girl." He was himself aware of the plan and had got a great deal of
amusement out of it. Whether it came to anything else or not, it at
least promised him a great deal of pleasure. Scores of nice girls had
been invited to meet him, and all his relatives and friends had laid
themselves out thus to make a reformed character of Dick. He liked them
all, he declared; they were delightful company, and he did not mind how
many he was presented to; for what can be nicer than a nice girl? and to
see how many of them there were in the world was exhilarating to a man
fresh out of the backwoods. As he had never once approached the limits
of the serious, or had occasion to ask himself what might be the end
of any of these pleasant triflings into which his own temperament,
seconding the plots of his friends, carried him lightly, all had gone
quite well and easily, as Dick loved the things about him to go. But
suddenly, on this occasion, when there was an unexpected break in the
pleasant surface of affairs, and dark remembrances, never forgotten, had
got uppermost in his mind; in this night of all others, when those two
words, "in love," floated through his mind, there rose up with them
a sudden apparition,--the figure, light, yet not shadowy, of Chatty
Warrender holding the bowl of roses with both hands, and with that look
of innocent surprise and pleasure in her face. Who can account for such
appearances? She walked into his imagination at the mere passage of
these words through his head, stepping across the threshold of his fancy
with almost as strong a sensation of reality as if she had pushed open
his door and come into the room in which he was to all appearance quite
tranquilly taking off his boots and changing his coat to join the rector
in the study below. He had seen a great many girls more beautiful, more
clever, more striking in every way, than Chatty. He had not been aware,
even, that he had himself distinguished her; yet there she was, with her
look, which was not addressed to him, yet perhaps was more or less on
account of him,--that look of unexpected pleasure. Was it on his account?
No; only because in the midst of the dulness some one was asked to
dinner. Bah! he said to himself, and tossed