“Dear father—You always addressed him that way?”
“Yes.”
“Dear father,—I have been here some days, awaiting Count Hunyadi's return to transact some matters of business with him, and have by a mere accident learned that you are amongst his guests. As I do not know how, to what extent, or in what capacity it may be your pleasure to recognize me, or whether it might not chime better with your convenience to ignore me altogether, I write now to submit myself entirely to your will and guidance, being in this, as in all things, your dutiful and obedient son.”
The words came from her pen as rapidly as her fingers could move across the paper; and as she finished, she pushed it towards me, saying,—
“There—put 'Digby Norcott' there, and it is all done!”
“This is a matter to think over,” said I, gravely. “I may be compromising other interests than my own by signing this.”
“Those Jews of yours have imbued you well with their cautious spirit, I see,” said she, scoffingly.
“They have taught me no lessons I am ashamed of, Madam,” said I, reddening with anger.
“I declare I don't know you as the Digby of long ago! I fancied I did, when I heard those ladies coming upstairs each night, so charmed with all your graceful gifts, and so eloquent over all your fascinations; and now, as you stand there, word-splitting and phrase-weighing, canvassing what it might cost you to do this or where it would lead you to say that, I ask myself, Is this the boy of whom his father said, 'Above all things he shall be a gentleman'?”
“To one element of that character, Madam, I will try and preserve my claim,—no provocation shall drive me to utter a rudeness to a lady.”