Beecher was not sorry at the opportunity of a little dis-play. He was glad to show Davis that in the great world of society he could play no insignificant part; and so he put forth all his little talents as a talker, with choice anecdotes of “smart people,” and the sayings and doings of a set which, to Grog, were as much myths as the inscriptions on an Assyrian monument. Lizzy Davis evidently took interest in his account of London and its life. She liked, too, to hear about the families of her schoolfellows, some of whom bore “cognate” names, and she listened with actual eagerness to descriptions of the gorgeous splendor and display of a town “season.”
“And I am to see all these fine things, and know all these fine people, papa?” asked she.
“Yes, I suppose so,—one of these days, at least,” muttered Grog, not caring to meet Beecher's eye.
“I don't think you care for this kind of life so much as Mr. Beecher, pa. Is their frivolity too great for your philosophy?”
“It ain't that!” muttered Grog, growing confused.
“Then do tell me, now, something of the sort of people you are fond of; the chances are that I shall like them just as well as the others.”
Beecher and Davis exchanged glances of most intense significance; and were it not from downright fear, Beecher would have burst out laughing.
“Then I will ask Mr. Beecher,” said she, gayly. “You 'll not be so churlish as papa, I 'm certain. You 'll tell me what his world is like?”
“Well, it's a very smart world too,” said Beecher, slyly enjoying the malicious moment of worrying Grog with impunity. “Not so many pretty women in it, perhaps, but plenty of movement, plenty of fun,—eh, Davis? Are you fond of horses, Miss Davis?”
“Passionately; and I flatter myself I can ride too. By the way, is it true, papa, you have brought a horse from England for me?”