Damon was sitting in a melancholy posture, his countenance
dejected, and his eye languid. Upon the entrance of the baronet he looked
up, and struck with the sudden appearance of one to whom he was so
ardently attached, his visage for a moment assumed an air of gaiety and
pleasure.
"Ha," cried sir William, with his wonted spriteliness of accent, "methinks
the countenance of my Damon does not bespeak the sentiments that become a
bridegroom." "I am afraid not," answered Damon. "But tell me to what am I
indebted for this agreeable and unexpected visit?" "We will talk of that
another time. But when did you see my play-fellow, Miss Frampton?" "I have
not seen her," replied our hero with a sigh half uttered, and half
suppressed, "these ten days." "What" cried the baronet, "no
misunderstanding, eh?" "Not absolutely that. I saw her, I fear, without
all the rapture that becomes a lover, and she resented it with a coldness
that did not introduce an immediate explanation. Since that time I have
been somewhat indisposed, or probably affairs would now have been
settled." "And what," said sir William, "must we apply the old maxim, that
the falling out of lovers is the consolidating of love?"
Damon from the entrance of his friend had appeared a good deal agitated.
He was no longer able to contain himself. He eagerly seized the hand of
sir William and clasped it between both of his.
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