That eloquent lady received me with a flutter of feathers, if I may borrow the expression, to indicate her pleasure.
“Oh, Mr. Wilton, you'll pardon my boldness, I'm sure,” she said with an amiable flirt of the head, as I seated myself beside her and watched Luella melt away into the next room; “but I was afraid you had forgotten all about us poor women, and it's a dreadful thing to be in this great house when there isn't a man about, though of course there are the servants, but you can't count them as men, besides some of them being Chinamen. And we—I—that is, I really did want to see you, and we ought to have so much to talk over, for I've heard that your mother's first cousin was a Bowser, and I do so want to see that dear, delightful Chinatown that I've heard so much about, though they do say it's horrid and dirty, but you'll let us see that for ourselves, won't you, and did you ever go through Chinatown, Mr. Wilton?”
Mrs. Bowser pulled up her verbal coach-and-six so suddenly that I felt as though she must have been pitched off the box.
“Oh,” said I carelessly, “I've seen the place often enough.”
“How nice!” Then suddenly looking grave, Mrs. Bowser spoke from behind her fan. “But I hope, Mr. Wilton, there's nothing there that a lady shouldn't see.”
I hastened to assure her that it was possible to avoid everything that would bring a blush to the cheek of a matron of her years.
Mrs. Bowser at this rattled on without coming to any point, and, after waiting to learn when she expected to claim my services, and seeing no prospect of getting such information without a direct question, I allowed my eyes and attention to wander about the room, feeding the flow of speech, when it was checked, with a word or two of reply. I could see nothing of Luella, and Mrs. Knapp appeared to be too much taken up with other guests to notice me. I was listening to the flow of Mrs. Bowser's high-pitched voice without getting any idea from it, when my wandering attention was suddenly recalled by the words, “Mr. Knapp.”
“What was that?” I asked in some confusion. “I didn't catch your meaning.”
“I was saying I thought it strange Mr. Knapp wouldn't go with us, and he got awfully cross when I pressed him, and said—oh, Mr. Wilton, he said such a dreadful word—that he'd be everlastingly somethinged if he would ever go into such a lot of dens of—oh, I can't repeat his dreadful language—but wasn't it strange, Mr. Wilton?”
“Very,” I said diplomatically; “but it isn't worth while to wait for him, then.”