I replied by a very sincere assurance of how I esteemed the favour, and the next moment was seated at her side. As I stole a glance at the pale but beautifully-formed features, her drooping eyelashes, dark as night, and her figure of surpassing symmetry and grace, I could not help thinking of all the straits and expedients I had practised for three entire days to avoid making her acquaintance. As if she had actually divined what was then passing in my mind, she said,—
“You see, Mr. Temple ton, it was like a fate; you did your utmost not to meet us, and here we are, after all.”
I stammered out a very eager, but a very blundering attempt at denial, while she resumed,—
“Pray do not make matters worse, which apologies in such cases always do. Grandpapa told me that ill health had made you a recluse and avoid society. This, and the mystery of your own close seclusion, were quite enough to make me desirous to see you.”
“How flattered I should have been had I suspected so much interest could attach to me! but, really, I dreaded to inflict upon a very old friend what I found to be so tiresome, namely, my own company.”
“I always heard that you were fastidious about going into society; but surely a visit to an old friend, in a foreign country too, might have escaped being classified in this category?”
“I own my fault, which, like most faults, has brought its own penalty.”
“If this be meant to express your deep affliction at not coming to us, I accept the speech in all its most complimentary sense.”
I bowed in acquiescence, and she went on:—
“You must forgive me if I talk to you with a freedom that our actual acquaintanceship does not warrant, for, while you never heard of me before, I have been listening to stories and narratives about you, I cannot say how long.”