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192 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP
You don't think the new composers as good as the old ones, and
love mamma's old-fashioned playing ? Well, Philip, it is delightful,
so lady-like, so feminine !" Or, perhaps, Philip has just come from
Hyde Park, and says, " As I passed by Apsley House, I saw the
Duke come out, with his old blue frock and white trousers and
clear face. I have seen a picture of him in an old European
Magazine, which I think I like better than all—gives me the idea
of one of the brightest men in the world. The brave eyes gleam
at you out of the picture ; and there's a smile on the resolute lips,
which seems to ensure triumph. Agnes, Assaye must have been
glorious !"
" Glorious, Philip !" says Agnes, who had never heard of Assaye
before in her life. Arbela, perhaps ; Salamis, Marathon, Agincourt,
Blenheim, Busaco—where dear grandpapa was killed—Waterloo,
Armageddon ; but Assaye ? Que voulez-vous ?
" Think of that ordinarily prudent man, and how greatly he
knew how to dare when occasion came ! I should like to have
died after winning such a game. He has never done anything so
exciting since."
"A game? I thought it was a battle just now," murmurs
Agnes in her mind; but there may be some misunderstanding.
" Ah, Philip," she says, " I fear excitement is too much the life of
all young men now. When will you be quiet and steady, sir ?"
"And go to an office every day, like my uncle and cousin;
and read the newspaper for three hours, and trot back and see
you."
" Well, sir ! that ought not to be such very bad amusement,"
says one of the ladies.
" What a clumsy wretch I am ! my foot is always trampling on
something or somebody !" groans Phil.
" You must come to us, and we will teach you to dance, Bruin !"
says gentle Agnes, smiling on him. I think when very much
agitated, her pulse must have gone up to forty. Her blood must
have been a light pink. The heart that beat under that pretty
white chest, which she exposed so liberally, may have throbbed
pretty quickly once or twice with waltzing, but otherwise never
rose or fell beyond its natural gentle undulation. It may have had
throbs of grief at a disappointment occasioned by the milliner not
bringing a dress home ; or have felt some little fluttering impulse of
youthful passion when it was in short frocks, and Master Grimsby
at the dancing-school showed some preference for another young
pupil out of the nursery. But feelings, and hopes, and blushes, and
passions now? Psha ! They pass away like nursery dreams. Now
there are only proprieties. What is love, young heart? It is two