“Who, indeed? Fortune lavisher would fit you better! Eh, my boy?” put in the gentleman who afterwards reported this conversation, and who must therefore be nameless.
“But to return to the previous question,” said Reding, “the previous question with an amendment. How was it that you let the beauty elude you?”
“The beauty, sir? I fail to comprehend you,” said Dick, coldly.
“Ah, bah!” exclaimed young Lieutenant Harpe, rushing recklessly into the subject, for he was very much the worse for wine. “Why the deuce can’t you speak out plainly, Cap’, and call people by their names?— Miss Lyon! the beautiful Miss Lyon! the elegant Miss Lyon! the accomplished Miss Lyon! the belle of the season! the queen of the haut ton! the adored of Dick Hammond, whom she also adores! the betrothed of Alick Lyon, whom she abhors! And here’s to her!” And with this, he tossed off a big bumper of brandy.
“Yes, that’s so!” said Reding, “and that being so, why the mischief don’t you run off with the girl, eh, Hammy, my boy?”
Now if Dick had not been drinking a great deal more than was good for him, he would never have let his cousin’s name come up in such a company. Even as it was, he rather resented its introduction now, by keeping silence.
“Did you hear me, Hammy, my boy?” persisted Reding. “I asked you why—seeing she liked you so much better than she did that rum curse she was engaged to marry—why you didn’t cut him out and run off with the girl?”
“In the first place,” answered Dick, coldly, looking down into his empty glass, “it is not to be presumed possible that the ‘girl,’ as you ventured to call the lady, would have consented to run off with me.”
“Then I’d be blown to atoms if I hadn’t kidnapped her!” burst forth young Harpe, who was very far gone in inebriation.
“That would scarcely be practicable in the nineteenth century and in Washington city, Lieutenant,” answered Dick.