“How do you do, Miss?”
Drusilla bowed in silence, and attempted to pass on.
“Excuse me, but when did you reach town?”
“I beg your pardon, sir; I have not the honor of your acquaintance,” said Drusilla, coldly, passing him by and quickly leaving the house.
But he followed her out on the sidewalk, and joining her, said:
“You ‘have not the honor of my acquaintance,’ eh? Well, the ‘honor’ is questionable, but the acquaintance is beyond a doubt, my dear! What! don’t you remember the night I came into the box, to chaff my friend Lyon on his pretty little acquisition, eh? By the way, how is Lyon?”
By this time Drusilla had beckoned her servant, who drove up with the carriage, dismounted, opened the door, and let down the steps for his mistress.
“But you didn’t tell me how my friend Lyon is. I hope he is well. I know he has left his rooms at the hotel. But if you will favor me with your address, Miss—”
“Leo,” said Drusilla to her coachman, as she entered her carriage, “this person annoys me. If you see a policeman give him in charge, and—drive on.”
“Yes, madam,” answered the man, heartily, cracking his whip and starting his horses.