“Oh! of course, you were charmed,” broke she in; “and so you ought to be, when one performs so dangerous a trick to amuse you. The audience always applauds the rope-dancer that perils his neck; and you 'd be worse than ungrateful not to screen me when I 'm satirized. But it may relieve somewhat the load of obligation when I say that I utter these things just to please myself. I bear the world no ill-will, it is true; but I 'm very fond of laughing at it.”
“In the name and on behalf of that respectable community, let me return you my thanks,” said he, bowing.
“Remember,” said she, “how little I really know of what I ridicule, and so let my ignorance atone for my ill-nature; and now, to come back, what was it that you were counting so patiently on your fingers? Not my faults, I'm certain, or you'd have had both hands.”
“I'm afraid I could scarcely tell you,” said he, “though somehow I feel that if I knew you a very little longer, I could tell you almost anything.”
“I wish you could tell me that this pleasant time was coming. What is this?” asked she, as the waiter entered, and presented her with a visiting-card.
“Monsieur the Count desires to know if Mademoiselle will receive him,” said the man.
“What, how? What does this mean?” exclaimed Beecher, in terror and astonishment.
“Yes,” said she, turning to the waiter; “say, 'With pleasure.'”
“Gracious mercy!” exclaimed Beecher, “you don't know what you 're doing. Have you seen this person before?”
“Never!”