Chapter 91
Aint it so, Perkins?" addressing the young man before alluded to.
"What were you talking about?"
"Why, I was just saying to Julia that all different ideas entertained by different persons, were differences of opinion merely."
"Do you mean to say, that there is no such thing as truth, or error?"
"I do--in the abstract."
"Then we differ, of course--and as it would be, according to your estimation, a mere difference of opinion, no argument on the subject would be in place here."
"Of course not," replied Warburton, rather coolly, and dropped the subject. Julia _almost_ saw that Warburton had made himself appear foolish in the eyes of the dull, insipid Perkins--but her mental vision was closed up as firmly as ever, in a moment.
A loud burst of laughter from a group at the other end of the room, drew the attention of the company, who flocked to the scene of mirth, and soon all were chattering and laughing in a wild and incoherent manner, so loud as to attract the notice of persons in the street.
"Ha! he! he!" laughed a young lady, hysterically, sinking into a chair, with her handkerchief to her mouth--"what a droll body!"
"He-a, he-a, he-o-o-o," more boisterously roared out a fun-loving chap, who knew more about good living than good manners. And so the laugh pa.s.sed round. The cause of all this uproar, was a merry fellow, who had made a rabbit out of one of the girl's handkerchiefs, and was springing it from his hand against the wall.
He seemed to have a fair appreciation of the character of his a.s.sociates for the evening; and though himself perfectly competent to behave well in the best society, chose to act the clown in this.
In due course, order was restored, more from the appearance of a waiter with nuts and raisins, than from an natural reaction.
"Name my apple, Mr. Perkins,"--(don't smile, reader--it's a true picture)--whispered a young lady to the young man sitting next her.
"It is named."
"Name my apple, Mr. Collins," said Julia, with a
"It is named."
"And mine, Mr. Collins"--"And mine, Mr. Warburton"--"And mine, Mr.
Jones."
The apples being eaten, the important business of counting seed came next in order.
"How many have you got, Julia?"
"Six."
"She loves!"
"Who is it, Mr. Collins?" asked two or three voices.
"Mr. Warburton," was the reply.
"I thought so, I thought so,--see how she blushes."
And in fact the red blood was mounting fast to Julia's face.
The incident escaped neither the eye of Warburton nor of Perkins. To go through the whole insipid scene would not interest any reader, and so we will omit it.
After the apples were eaten, "hull-gull,"--"nuts in my hand," &c., were played, and then music was called for
"Miss Simmons, give us an air, if you please."
"Indeed you must excuse me, I am out of practice."
"No excuse can be taken. We all know that you can play, and we must hear you this evening."
"I would willingly oblige the company, but I have not touched the piano for two months, and cannot play fit to be heard."
"O, never mind, we'll be the judges of that."
"Come, Miss Simmons, do play for us now, that's a good soul!"
"Indeed you must excuse me!"
But no excuse would be taken. And in spite of protestations, she was forced to take a seat at the piano.
"Well, since I must, I suppose I must. What will you have."
"Give us 'Bonny Doon'--it is so sweet and melancholy," said an interesting-looking young man.
"'Charlie over the Water,' is beautiful--I dote on that pong; do sing it, Miss Simmons!"
"Give us Auld Lang Syne.'"
"Yes, or Burns's Farewell.'"
"'Oft in the Stilly Night,' Miss Simmons--you can sing that."
"Yes, 'Oft in the Stilly Night,'--Miss Simmons," said half-a-dozen voices, and so that was finally chosen. After running her fingers over the keys for a few moments, Miss Simmons started off.
Before she had half finished the first verse, the hum of voices, which had commenced as soon as she began to sing, rose to such a pitch as almost to drown the sound of the instrument. She laboured on through about a verse and a half of the song, when she rose from the piano, and was proceeding to her vacant seat.
"O no!--no!--no!" said half-a-dozen voices at once.
"That will never do-we must have another song."
"Indeed I can't sing to-night, and _must_ be excused," said the lady warmly, and so she _was_ excused. But soon another was chosen to be victimized at the piano, and "will-ye-nill-ye," sing she must.
Simultaneous with the sound of the instrument rose the hum of voices, which grew louder and louder, until the performer stopped, discouraged and chagrined.
"That's beautiful! How well you play, Miss Emma!" and Miss Emma was forced to resume the seat she had left half in mortification. All was again still for a moment.
"Can you play the 'Harp and Lute,' Miss Emma?"
"No sir."
"Yes you can, though, for I've heard you many a time," said a smart young lady sitting on the opposite side of the room.