Giles Inglett Saltren had promised hismother to say nothing to any one of what hadbeen told him, but the temptation had comestrongly upon him to tell Arminell that he wasnot the nobody she and others supposed, andhe had succumbed in the temptation. Heand the girl had interests in common, sympathiesthat drew them together, and he feltthat it would be of extraordinary benefit toher, and a pleasure to himself, if, in thatgreat house, where each was so solitary, theycould meet without the barrier which hadhitherto divided them and prevented thefrank interchange of ideas and the communicationof confidences. Later on in the evening,2it is true, that he felt some twinges ofconscience, but they were easily stilled.
Jingles had greatly felt his loneliness. Hehad been without a friend, without even acompanion. He could not associate withthose of his mother’s class, for he was separatedfrom them by his education, and hemade no friends in the superior class, fromthe suspicion with which he regarded itsmembers. He had made acquaintances atcollege, but he could not ask them to stay atChillacot when he was at the park, nor invitethem as guests to Orleigh; consequently,these acquaintanceships died natural deaths.Nevertheless, that natural craving which existsin all hearts to have a familiar friend, aperson with whom to associate and open thesoul, was strong in Jingles.
If the reader has travelled in a foreigncountry—let us say in Bohemia—and is ignorantof the tongue, Czech, he has felt the irksomenessof a table d’hôte at which he has sat,and of which he has partaken, without beingable to join in the general conversation. Hehas felt embarrassed, has longed for the3dinner to be over, that he might retire to hissolitary chamber. Yet, when there, hewearies over his loneliness, and descendsto the coffee-room, there to sip his café noir,and smoke, and pare his nails, and turn overa Czech newspaper, make up his accounts,then sip again, again turn over the paper, re-examinehis nails, and recalculate his expenditure,in weariful iteration, and long for thetime when he can call for his bill and leave.But, if some one at an adjoining table says,“Ach! zu Englitsch!” how he leaps to eagerdialogue, how he takes over his coffee-cupand cognac to the stranger’s table; how helongs to hug the barbarian, who professes to“speaque a littelle Englitsch.” How heclings to him, forgives him his blunders, opensa thirsty ear to his jargon, forces on himchampagne and cigars, forgets the clock, hisnails, his notes, the bill and the train, in thedelight of having met one with whom he canfor a moment forget his isolation.
If this be so when meeting with a foreigner,how much more cordial