She pressed her handkerchief to her face, and I thought I heard her sob; indeed I am certain I did. Nothing was further from my thoughts than to say a rude thing, or even an unfeeling one, and so I assured her over and over. I protested that it was the very first time since I came away that I ever as much as remembered one belonging to me; that it was impossible for a man to feel less the ties of family; that I looked upon myself—and, indeed, I hoped she also looked upon me in a way—in fact, regarded me in a light—I'm not exactly clear, Tom, what light I said; of course, you can imagine what I intended to say, if I did n't say it.
"Is this really true?" said she, without uncovering her face, while she extended her other hand towards me.
"True!" repeated I. "If it were not true, why am I here? Why have I left—" I just caught myself in time, Tom. I was nearly "in it" again, with an allusion to Mrs. D.; but I changed it, and said, "Why am I your slave,—why am I at your feet—" Just as I said that, suiting the action to the words, the door of the room was jerked violently open, and a tall man, with a tremendous bushy pair of whiskers, poked his head in.
"Oh, heavens!" cried she; "mined and undone!" and fled before I could see her; while the stranger, fastening the door behind him with the key, advanced towards me with an air at once so menacing and warlike that I seized the poker, an instrument about four feet six long, and stood on the defensive.
"Mr. Kenny Dodd, I believe," said he, solemnly.
"The same!" said I.
"And not Lord Harvey Bruce, at least, on this occasion," said he, with a kind of sneer.
"No," said I, "and who are you?"