The Youth of Jefferson | Page 6

calls her mistress, and sends to her for blankets in the winter.
In the summer it is not necessary to ask for the produce of her estate,
such as they desire--they appropriate it.
Philippa is a cousin of Belle-bouche; and Belle-bouche is the niece of
Aunt Wimple, who is mistress of the Shadynook domain. Philippa has
guardians, but it cannot be said they direct her movements. They have
given up that task in despair, some years since, and only hope that from
the numerous cormorants always hovering around her, she may select
one not wholly insatiable--with some craw of mercy.
"There, you are talking about flowers, I lay a wager," she says,
returning the bow of Jacques, and laughing.
"I was speaking neither of yourself nor the fair Belinda," replies
Jacques, with melancholy gallantry.
"There! please have done with compliments--I detest them."
"You detest every thing insincere, I know, charming Philippa--pardon
me, but your beautiful name betrays me constantly. Is it not--like your
voice--stolen from poetry or music?"
"Ah, sir, you are insufferable."
"Pardon, pardon--but in this beautiful and fair season, so full of
flowers----"
"You think it necessary to employ flowers of speech: that is what you
were going to say, but for heaven's sake have done."

Jacques bows.
"I have just discarded the twentieth, Bel," she adds, laughing; "he got
on his knees."
And Philippa laughs heartily.
Jacques is used to his companion's manner of talking, and says:
"Who was it, pray, madam--Mowbray?"
A flush passes over Philippa's face, and she looks away, murmuring
"No!"
"I won't go over the list of your admirers," continues Jacques, sadly,
"they are too numerous; for who can wonder at such a fairy face as
yours attracting crowds of lovers?"
"My fairy face? Yes, and my unhappy wealth, sir. I wish I was poor! I
can never know when I am loved truly. Oh, to know that!"
And a shadow passes over the face, obliterating the satire, and veiling
the brilliant eyes. Then with an effort Philippa drives away her
preoccupation, and says:
"I wish Heaven had made me a man!"
"A man?" says Jacques.
"Yes, sir."
"Pray why? Is there any young lady you would like to marry? Ah," he
murmurs, "you need not go far if that is the case."
And he glances tenderly at Belle-bouche, who smiles and blushes.
"I wish to be a man, that my movements may not be restricted. There is
my guardian, who murmurs at my travelling about from county to
county with only Jugurtha to drive me--as if Jugurtha couldn't protect

me if there were any highwaymen or robbers."
Jacques laughs.
"But there are disadvantages connected with manhood," he says. "You
are ignorant of them, and so think them slight."
"The prominent ones, if you please."
"You would have to make love--the active instead of passive, as at
present."
"I would enjoy it."
"How would you commence, pray?"
"Oh, easily--see now. I would say,'My dear Bel! I am at your service! If
you love me, I'll love you!' And then with a low bow I would kiss her
hand, and her lips too, if she would permit me."
Jacques sighs.
"Do you think that would succeed, however?" he says.
"I don't know, and I don't care--I'd try."
Jacques sighs again, and looks wistfully at Belle-bouche, who smiles.
"I'm afraid such a cavalier address--at the pistol's mouth as it were--at
forty paces--like those highwaymen you spoke of but now--would only
insure failure."
"You are mistaken."
"I doubt the propriety of such a 'making love.'"
"If I were a man, you would see my success. I'd have any woman for
the asking."

"Well, fancy yourself a man."
"And who will be my lady-love?"
"Fancy my sex changed also--make love to me, my charming Madam
Philippa."
"Forsooth! But I could win your heart easily."
"How, pray," says Jacques, sighing, "granting first that 'tis in my
possession?"
"By two simple things."
"To wit?"
"I would talk to you of flowers and shepherdesses, and crooks and
garlands----"
"Oh!"
"And I would adopt, if I had not naturally, that frank, languid, graceful,
fatal air which--which--shall I finish?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Which Bel has! What a beautiful blush!"
And Philippa claps her hands.
Jacques tries very hard not to color, thus forfeiting all his pretensions to
the character of a self-possessed man of the world and elegant coxcomb;
but this is equally forlorn with his attempt not to observe the
mischievous glance and satirical lip of the fair Philippa.
He seeks in vain for a word--a jest--a reply.
Fortune favors him. A maid from the house approaches Philippa, and
says:

"Mr. Mowbray, ma'am."
A blush, deeper than that upon the face of Jacques, mantles Philippa's
cheeks as she replies:
"Say I am coming."
"Before you go," says Jacques with odious triumph, "permit me to say,
Madam