"It is Miss Bingham," said I, "who has been kind enough to come here with her maid, to bring me some flowers. Pray present my respectful compliments to Mrs. Bingham, and say how deeply I feel her most kind attention."
Emily rose at the instant, and recovering her self-possession at once, said—
"You forget, Mr. Lorrequer, it is a secret from whom the flowers came; at least mamma hoped to place them in your vases without you knowing. So, pray, don't speak of it—and I'm sure Mr. O'Leary will not tell."
If Mr. O'Leary heard one word of this artful speech, I know not, but he certainly paid no attention to it, nor the speaker, who left the room without his appearing aware of it.
"Now that she is gone—for which heaven be praised," said I to myself; "let me see what this fellow can mean."
As I turned from the door, I could scarcely avoid laughing aloud at the figure before me. He stood opposite a large mirror, his hat on one side of his head, one arm in his breast, and the other extended, leaning upon his stick; a look of as much ferocity as such features could accomplish had been assumed, and his whole attitude was a kind of caricature of a melo-dramatic hero in a German drama.
"Why, O'Leary, what is all this?"
"Hush, hush," said he, in a terrified whisper—"never mention that name again, till we are over the frontier."
"But, man, explain—what do you mean?"
"Can't you guess," said he drily.