“Oh, it’s you, is it?—at last! So I’ve unearthed you, have I?”
With these words she burst into an immoderate fit of laughter; leaving me, who intended to be the party giving the surprise, amazed, confused, and speechless, in the middle of the floor.
That my reader may sympathize a little in my distresses, let me present him with the tableau before me. Seated upon the piano-stool was a young-lady of at most eighteen years: her face, had it not been for its expression of exuberant drollery and malicious fun, would have been downright beautiful; her eyes, of the deepest blue, and shaded by long lashes, instead of indulging the character of pensive and thoughtful beauty for which Nature destined them, sparkled with a most animated brightness; her nose, which, rather short, was still beautifully proportioned, gave, with her well-curled upper lip, a look of sauciness to the features quite bewitching; her hair—that brilliant auburn we see in a Carlo Dolci—fell in wild and massive curls upon her shoulders. Her costume was a dark-green riding-habit, not of the newest in its fashion, and displaying more than one rent in its careless folds; her hat, whip, and gloves lay on the floor beside her, and her whole attitude and bearing indicated the most perfect ease and carelessness.
“So you are caught—taken alive!” said she, as she pressed her hands upon her sides in a fresh burst of laughter.
“By Jove! this is a surprise indeed!” said I. “And, pray, into whose fair hands have I fallen a captive?” recovering myself a little, and assuming a half air of gallantry.
“So you don’t know me, don’t you?”
“Upon my life I do not!”
“How good! Why, I’m Baby Blake.”