The Hand But Not the Heart | Page 8

misunderstood. If she
had met Mr. Hendrickson alone, she felt that it must have been
different. A degree of embarrassment might have existed, but she
would not have been forced to put on two opposite exteriors, as now,
neither of which, correctly interpreted her state of mind, or did justice
to her character.
"I did not see much of you last evening, Mr. Hendrickson. What were
you doing with yourself?" she remarked, trying to be more familiar,
and giving him a look that set his pulses to a quicker measure. Before
he could answer, Dexter said, gaily, yet with covert sarcasm.

"Oh, Mr. Hendrickson prefers the society of elderly ladies. He spent the
evening in sober confabulation with Mrs. Denison. I have no doubt she
was edified. I prefer maid to matron, at any time. Old women are my
horror."
Too light and gay were the tones of Dexter to leave room for offence.
Hendrickson tried to rally himself, and retort with pleasant speech. But
his heart was too deeply interested,--and his mood too serious for sport.
His smile did not improve the aspect of his countenance; and if he
meant his words for witticisms, they were perceived as sarcasms. Jessie
was rather repelled than attracted--all of which he saw.
Conscious that he was wholly misrepresenting himself in the young
lady's eyes, and feeling, moreover, that he was only spoiling pleasant
company, Hendrickson, after a brief call, left the field clear to his rival.
Jessie accompanied him to the door.
"I shall be pleased to see you again, Mr. Hendrickson," she said, in a
tone of voice that betrayed something of her interest in him.
He turned to look into her eyes. They sustained his penetrating gaze
only for a moment and then her long lashes lay upon her crimsoning
cheeks.
"Not if I show myself as stupid as I have been this morning," said the
young man.
"I have never thought you stupid, Mr. Hendrickson."
"I am dull at times," he said, hesitating, and slightly confused. "Good
morning!" he added, abruptly, and turned off without another look into
the eyes that were upon him; and in which he would have read more
than his heart had dared to hope for.
"What a boor!" exclaimed Dexter as Miss Loring returned to the parlor.
"Oh, no, not a boor, sir. Far, very far from that," answered the young
lady promptly.

"Well, you don't call him a gentleman, do you?"
"I have seen nothing that would rob him of the title," said Miss Loring.
"A true gentleman will put on a gentlemanly exterior; for he is
courteous by instinct--and especially when ladies are present. A true
gentleman, moreover, is always at his ease. Self-possession is one of
the signs of a well bred man. Hendrickson is not well bred. Any one
who has been at all in society, can perceive this at a glance. Did you
notice how he played with his watch chain; crossed his legs in sitting;
took out his pencil case, and moved the slide noisily backwards and
forwards; ran his fingers through his hair; exhibited his
pocket-handkerchief half-a-dozen times in as many minutes, and went
through sundry other performances of which no well bred man is guilty?
I marvel, that a young lady of your refinement can offer a word of
apology for such things. I see in it only kindness of heart; and this shall
be your excuse."
So gaily were the closing sentences uttered; yet with so manifest a
regard softening the final words, that Miss Loring's rising anger against
the young man, went down and was extinguished in a pleasing
consciousness of being an object of marked favor by one whose
external attractions, at least, were of the highest order.
"But the subject is not agreeable to either of us, Miss Loring," said
Dexter in a voice pitched to a lower tone, and with a softer modulation.
"I did not expect to find a visitor here at so early an hour; and I fear that
I have permitted myself to experience just a shade of annoyance. If I
have seemed ill-natured, pardon me. It is not my nature to find fault, or
to criticise. I rather prefer looking upon the bright side. Like Sir Joshua
Reynolds, 'I am a wide liker.' There are times, you know, in which we
are all tempted to act in a way that gives to others a false impression of
our real characters."
"No one is more conscious of that than I am," replied Miss Loring.
"Indeed, it seems often, as if I were made the sport of adverse
influences, and constrained to act and to appear wholly different from
what I desire to seem. There are some of life's phenomena, Mr. Dexter,

that puzzle at times my poor brain sorely."
"Don't puzzle