He told stories of his
adventures in the Rocky Mountains. He mentioned the state of his
finances, and his prospects for the future. He was as open, as free,
and as communicative as if he had been at home, with fond sisters and
admiring brothers around him. The ladies were disgusted at it all; and
by the ladies I mean only Mrs. Willoughby and Lady Dalrymple. For
Minnie was not--she actually listened in delight. It was not
conventional. Very well. Neither was the Baron. And for that matter,
neither was she. He was a child of nature. So was she. His rudeness,
his aggressiveness, his noise, his talkativeness, his egotism, his
confidences about himself--all these did not make him so very
disagreeable to her as to her sister and aunt.
So Minnie treated the Baron with the utmost complaisance, and Hawbury
was surprised, and Mrs. Willoughby and Lady Dalrymple were disgusted;
but the Baron was delighted, and his soul was filled with perfect joy.
Too soon for him was this drive over. But the end came, and they
reached the hotel. Hawbury left them, but the Baron lingered. The spot
was too sweet, the charm too dear--he could not tear himself away.
In fact, he actually followed the ladies into the house.
"I think I'll just make myself comfortable in here, Min, till you come
down," said the Baron. And with these words he walked into the
reception-room, where he selected a place on a sofa, and composed
himself to wait patiently for Minnie to come down.
So he waited, and waited, and waited--but Minnie did not come.
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