That night I wrote to father, with many excuses and reasons for the request, to send me my horse and Reuben; and feeling perfectly assured they would come, made up my mind what to do when they did.
After a day or two I called again on Miss Carrover, and was fortunate this time in finding her alone. I enjoyed a very delightful _tete-a-tete_ with her, and, among other things, told her that I had sent for my horse, and that when he came I would claim the ride she had so cruelly refused me the evening I had first called. She readily assented, and expressed the wish to ride him herself. Then she consented to sing for me; and, having been assured that her favorite would be mine, selected Meyerbeer’s “Robert le Diable.” Though her voice was very fine, yet it had been trained in such affectation of the opera that the song lost all of its melody and pathos in her rendition. She got up so high in her screams for _grace_ that it was only possible to descend by a ladder, which, like Brother Weekly, she constructed of “er,” and came hopping down with such an impenitent _gra-er-a-er-a-er-ce pour moi_ that no one could have blamed Robert for his inexorable “_Non, non, non._” At the conclusion of the piece I was, of course, profuse in my thanks and praise; but, fearing another such infliction, I begged for some instrumental music, and was tested, as to patience, by ten or twelve pages of banging and scaling.
Yet my visit was very delightful, and I departed more enraptured than ever, if such a thing was possible.
When I recounted my visit to Ned, he only laughed, and advised me seriously to attend more closely to my books.
“You know how much your father expects of you,” he said; “and you may be sure this Miss Carrover does not care a fig for you.”
“I know she does,” I responded, warmly. “Even on this, my second visit, she has shown me plainly that she likes me well. I’ll bet we are engaged before three months. Won’t that be glorious, Ned? Surely, man, you have no eyes, or you would be enslaved yourself by her beauty.”
“My vision is very good,” said Ned, “but I don’t see any thing enslaving about her. She is pretty, without doubt, and is probably entertaining; but there are others equally as good looking, and more capable of rendering you happy. Besides, do you suppose that a lady who has been the object of a great city’s adulation can be pleased with any one in this little village of students—half of whom she regards as mere boys?”