"I beg your pardon," she faltered. "We have called to inquire for Mr. Schultzsky, and to call upon his niece, Miss Frances Lindsay."
In the next instant, too, she was sure the young man was well bred. He gave Beatrice a chair, and turned on the student lamp without manifesting any embarrassment, while Miss Billy crossed to the old man's bedside, and extended her hand.
"I hope you are better, Mr. Schultzsky," she said. "Sister Beatrice and I have come to call upon——" For some undefined reason the words died away, and she stood with glowing cheeks and paralysed tongue.
"Sit down," said Mr. Schultzsky, pointing to a chair at the bedside. The young man was regarding Miss Billy with open humour shining in his dark eyes.
"I feel already acquainted with you, Miss Lee," he said, "as a good friend of my uncle's, and as a young lady who insists upon spelling my name 'ces.' I am Francis Lindsay!"
He was looking at Beatrice now, whose face was the picture of shocked propriety and haughtiness. Miss Billy's wits returned.
"It would be very funny," she thought, "if Bea didn't take it so tragically. But he is not at all to blame. He has tact, and is kind. I am the stupid one." Then she introduced Beatrice with a mischievous ring in her voice. "My sister Beatrice,—Mr. Francis Lindsay."
Mr. Schultzsky was feebly wagging his head and chuckling. "She iss a smart girl," he said,—"but she wass fooled dot time."
With a person less polished, the situation might have been deeply embarrassing,—but Mr. Schultzsky's great-nephew conversed entertainingly, with his arm resting easily on the table. He spoke of his native city of New York, of existing social relations, of his uncle's illness. He addressed his remarks to Miss Billy, but he glanced often at Beatrice, who sat cold and silent across the room.
"I trust you will give me permission to return the call," he said pleasantly, as at the end of ten minutes they rose to go. "I assure you I know what it is to be lonely, though I am not a girl."