Aulaire," said Mr. Morris, suddenly becoming grave
and laying a kindly hand on Calvert's shoulder. "I misjudge him if he
will take even a fair defeat at sport in the right spirit. Look out for
him, Ned--he will not play fair and he will not forget a grudge, or I am
greatly deceived in him."
But it was not of Monsieur le Baron's possible revenge or even of his
cracked head that Mr. Calvert thought, but of his unrivalled gallantry
of bearing and his splendid appearance. And that night when he retired
to his own room he practised St. Aulaire's graceful bow before the long
cheval glass, though with most indifferent success, it must be
confessed.
"'Tis no use," he said at length to the sober reflection in the glass,
and he threw himself into a chair and burst out laughing at his own
folly. "I am only a simple American gentleman, and Monsieur de St.
Aulaire's manners are too elaborate for such. Perhaps 'tis his splendid
dress and decorations which give such eclat to his every movement. At
any rate I see that I shall have to content myself with my own quiet
fashions. And why, indeed, am I suddenly dissatisfied with them?--why
wish to change them?"
But though he sat for some time staring into the fire he did not attempt
to answer his own queries, and, after a little, he blew out the candles
and resolutely addressed himself to sleep.
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