“Never heard of him!”
“Never,” said she, with a faint smile, for the sight of his terror amused her.
“But who is he, then? How has he dared—”
“Nay,” said she, holding behind her back the visiting-card, which he endeavored to snatch from her hand,—“this is my secret!”
“This is intolerable!” cried Beecher. “What is your father to think of your admitting a person to visit you,—an utter stranger,—a fellow Heaven knows—”
At this moment, as if to answer in the most palpable form the question he was propounding, a somewhat sprucely dressed man, middle-aged and comely, entered; and, passing Beecher by with the indifference he might have bestowed on a piece of furniture, advanced to where Lizzy was standing, and, taking her band, pressed it reverently to his lips.
So far from resenting the liberty, she smiled most courteously on him, and motioned to him to take a seat on the sofa beside her.
“I can't stand this, by Jove!” said Beecher, aloud; while, with an assumption of courage his heart little responded to, he walked straight up to the stranger. “You understand English, I hope?” said he, in very indifferent French.
“Not a syllable,” replied the other, in the same language.
“I only know 'All right';” and he laughed pleasantly as he uttered the words in an imitation of English.