But as his walk in the night-air cooled him, it cooled his ardor of self-examination somewhat. His discontent was modified by the time he reached his own door, and took his latch-key out of his pocket. The face that had looked down upon him beneath the light at the head of the stair-case, had faded into less striking color it was only a girl's face again. He was on better terms with himself, and his weakness seemed less formidable.
"I will keep my promise to-morrow," he said, "and Priscilla shall go with us. Poor Priscilla! poor girl! Rose-pink satin would scarcely be in good taste in Broome street."
The promise he had made was nothing more than a ratification of the old one. They were to see the lions together, and Priscilla was to guide them.
And when the morrow came, he found it, after all, safe enough, and an easy enough matter, to tuck Theodora's small, gloved hand under his arm, when they set out on their tour of investigation and discovery. The girl was pretty enough, too, in her soft, black merino her "best" dress in Downport but she was not dazzling. The little round, black-plumed hat was becoming also; but in his now more prosaic mood, he could stand that, too, pretty as it was in an innocent, unconsciously-coquettish way. Theo was never coquettish herself in the slightest degree. She was not world-wise enough for that yet. But she was quite exhilarating to-day; so glad to be out even in the London fog of November; so glad to be taken lion-hunting; so delighted with the shops and their gay windows; so ready to let her young tongue run on in a gay stream of chatter, altogether so bright, and pretty, and joyous, that her escort was fain to be delighted too.
"Guess where we are going to first?" said he. (He had not before openly spoken of Priscilla to her.)
She glanced up into his face, brightly. She remembered what he had told her about his lady friend.
"I don't exactly know the name of the place," she said; "but I think I know the name of the person we are going to see."
"Do you?" was his reply. "Then say it to me let me hear it."
"Miss Gower," she answered, softly, in a pretty reverence for him. "Miss Priscilla Gower."
He nodded, slightly, with a curious mixture of expressions in his face.
"Yes," he said. "Miss Gower, or rather Miss Priscilla Gower, as you say. Number twenty-three, Broome street; and Broome street is not a fashionable locality, my dear Theodora."
"Isn't it?" queried Theo. "Why not?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Ask Lady Throckmorton," he said. "But do you know who Miss Priscilla Gower is, Theodora?"
Her bright eyes crept up to his, half-timidly; but she said nothing, so he continued.
"Miss Priscilla Gower is the young lady to whom I am to be married next July. Did you know that?"
"Yes," answered Theo, looking actually pleased, and blushing beautifully as he looked down at her. "But I am very much obliged to you for telling me, Mr. Oglethorpe."
"Why?" he asked. It was very preposterous, that even though his mood was so prosaic and paternal a one, he was absurdly, vacantly sensible of feeling some uneasiness at the brightness of her upturned face. For pity's sake, why was it that he was impelled to such a puerile weakness such a vanity, as he sternly called it.
"Because," returned Theo, "it makes me feel as if I mean it makes me happy to think you trust me enough to tell me about what has made you happy. I hope oh! I do hope Miss Priscilla Gower will like me."
He had been looking straight before him while she spoke, but this brought his eyes to hers again, and to her face bright, appealing, upturned and he found himself absolutely obliged to steady himself with a jesting speech.
"My dearest Theodora," he said. "Miss Priscilla Gower could not possibly help it."
Comforting as this assurance was to her, it must be confessed she found herself somewhat over-awed on reaching Broome street, and being taken into the tiny, dwarfed-looking parlor of number twenty-three; Miss Elizabeth Gower herself was there, in her company-cap, and long-cherished company-dress of snuff-colored satin. There were not many shades of difference in either her snuff-colored gown, or her snuff-colored skin, or her neat, snuff-colored false-front, Theo fancied, but she was not at all afraid of her. She was a trifle afraid of Miss Priscilla. Miss Priscilla was sitting at the table reading when they entered, and as she rose to greet them, holding her book in one hand, the thought entered Theo's mind that she could comprehend dimly why Lady Throckmorton disliked her, and thought her unsuited to Denis Oglethorpe. There was an absence of anything girl-like in her fine, ivory-pale face, somehow, though it was a young face and a handsome face, at whose fine lines and clear contour even a connoisseur could not have caviled. Its long almond-shaped, agate-gray eyes, black-fringed and lustrous as they were, still were silent eyes they did not speak even to Denis Oglethorpe.
"I am glad you have come," she said, simply, extending her hand in acknowledgment of Denis's introduction. The quietness of this greeting speech was a fair sample of all her manner. It would have been sheerly impossible to expect anything like effusiveness from Priscilla Gower. The most sanguine and empty-headed of mortals would never have looked for it in her. She was constitutionally unenthusiastic, if such a thing may be.