For the first time in his life, as I have said, Mr. Wentworth shirked a responsibility; he earnestly desired that it might not be laid upon him to determine how his nephew's lighter propositions should be treated.
He lived under an apprehension that Felix might yet beguile him into assent to doubtful inductions, and his conscience instructed him that the best form of vigilance was the avoidance of discussion.
He hoped that the pleasant episode of his nephew's visit would pass away without a further lapse of consistency.
Felix looked at Charlotte with an air of understanding, and then at Mr. Wentworth, and then at Charlotte again.
Mr. Wentworth bent his refined eyebrows upon his nephew and stroked down the first page of the "Advertiser."
"I ought to have brought a bouquet," said Felix, laughing.
"In France they always do."
"We are not in France," observed Mr. Wentworth, gravely, while Charlotte earnestly gazed at him.
"No, luckily, we are not in France, where I am afraid I should have a harder time of it. My dear Charlotte, have you rendered me that delightful service?" And Felix bent toward her as if some one had been presenting him.
Charlotte looked at him with almost frightened eyes; and Mr. Wentworth thought this might be the beginning of a discussion. "What is the bouquet for?" he inquired, by way of turning it off.
Felix gazed at him, smiling. "Pour la demande!"
And then, drawing up a chair, he seated himself, hat in hand, with a kind of conscious solemnity.
Presently he turned to Charlotte again. "My good Charlotte, my admirable Charlotte," he murmured, "you have not played me false--you have not sided against me?"
Charlotte got up, trembling extremely, though imperceptibly.
"You must speak to my father yourself," she said.
"I think you are clever enough."