He laid his hand, as he spoke, upon a small copy of old Malory’s Romance of Arthur.  It was a kind of reading of which he was especially fond, and to which the rest were always willing and glad to listen.

“Call Ellen,” said he to Gabriel; “and now then for King Arthur!”

As he spoke the door-bell rang.  The next moment a young man, apparently of Gabriel’s age, entered the room.  His large melancholy black eyes, the massive black curls upon his head, the transparent olive complexion, a natural elegance of form and of movement—­all corresponded with what Mr. Bennet had been saying.  It was evidently Edward.

“Good-evening, Little Malacca!” cried Gabriel, gayly, as he rose and put out his hand.

“Good-evening, Gabriel!” he answered, in a soft, ringing voice; then bowed and spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.

“Gabriel doesn’t forget old school-days,” said the new-comer to Mrs. Bennet.

“No, he has often told us of his friendship with Little Malacca,” returned the lady calmly, as she resumed her work.

“And how little I thought I was to see him when I came to Mr. Newt’s store,” said the young man.

“Where did you first know Mr. Lawrence Newt?” asked Mrs. Bennet.

“I don’t remember when I didn’t know him, Madam,” replied Edward.

“Happy fellow!” said Gabriel.

Meanwhile Miss Ellen had probably found the mysterious something which she had left up stairs; for she entered the room, and bowed very calmly upon seeing Edward, and, seating herself upon the side of the table farthest from him, was presently industriously netting.  As for Edward, he had snapped a sentence in the middle as he rose and bowed to her, and could not possibly fit the two ends together when he sat down again, and so lost it.

Gradually, as the evening wore on, the conversation threatened to divide itself into tetes-a-tete; for Gabriel suddenly discovered that he had an article upon Hemp to read in the Encyclopedia which he had recently purchased, and was already profoundly immersed in it, while Mr. and Mrs. Bennet resumed their murmuring talk, and the chair of the youth with the large black eyes, somehow—­nobody saw how or when—­slipped round until it was upon the same side of the table with that of Ellen, who was busily netting.

Mrs. Bennet was conscious that the chair had gone round, and the swimming eyes of her husband lingered with pleasure upon the mass of black curls bent toward the golden hair which was bowed over that intricate purse.  Ellen was sitting under that portrait of the lady, with the flashing, passionate eyes, who seemed to bear a family likeness to Mrs. Bennet.

The more closely he looked at the handsome youth and the lovely girl the more curious Mr. Bennet’s eyes became.  He watched the two with such intentness that his wife several times looked up at him surprised when she received no answer to her remarks.  Evidently something had impressed Mr. Bennet exceedingly.