an sweet. What right had he to bend over that simple girl,
to lay himself out to please her, to speak low in her ear? Dick knew
unfortunately too well what was apt to come of such a beginning. Without
being more of a coxcomb than was inevitable, he was aware that he had a
way of pleasing women. And he had a perception that Chatty was ready to
be pleased, and that he himself wished--oh, very much, if he dared--to
please her. In these circumstances it was perfectly evident that he
should peremptorily take himself out of all possibility of seeing Chatty.
But this was utterly contrary to the way in which he had greeted her,
and in which he had immediately flung himself into the affairs of the
family. It was his occupation while he walked home to defend and excuse
himself for this to himself. In the first place, which was perfectly
true, he had not known at all that the Warrenders were to be of the
party; he had thus fallen into the snare quite innocently, without any
fault of his. Had he known, he might have found an excuse and kept away.
But then he asked himself, why in the name of heaven should he have kept
away? Was he so captivating a person that it would be dangerous to Miss
Warrender to meet him--once; or such a fool as to be unable to meet a
young lady whom he admired--once: without harm coming to it? To be sure
he had gone farther: he had thrown himself, as it were, at the feet of
the ladies, with enthusiasm, and had made absurd offers of himself to be
"of use." There could be no doubt that in the circumstances this was
mad enough, and culpable too; but it was done without premeditation, by
impulse, as he was too apt to act, especially in such matters; and it
could be put a stop to. He was pledged to call, it was true; but that
might be once, and no more. And then there was the play, the opera, to
which he had pledged himself to attend them; once there could not do
much harm, either. Indeed, so long as he kept, which he ought to do
always, full control over himself, what harm could it at all do to be
civil to Theo Warrender's mother and sister, who were, so to speak,
after a sort, old friends? He was not such an ass (he said to himself)
as to think that Chatty was at his disposal if he should lift up his
finger; and there was her mother to take care of her; and they were not
people to be asking each other what he "meant," as two experienced women
of society might do. Both mother and daughter were very innocent; they