I thanked her voluminously. “The etiquette of this country is as involved as the spoken tongue,” I said, “for both are composed chiefly of exceptions to a given rule. It was formerly impressed upon this person, as a guiding principle, that that which is unseen is not to be discussed; yet it is not held in disrepute to allude to so intimate and secluded an organ as the heart, for no further removed than yesterday he heard the deservedly popular sea-lieutenant in the act of declaring to you, upon his knees, that you were utterly devoid of such a possession.”
At this inoffensively-conveyed suggestion, the fire opposite had all the appearance of suddenly reflecting itself into the maiden’s face with a most engaging concentration, while at the same time she stamped her foot in ill-concealed rage.
“You’ve been listening at the door!” she cried impetuously, “and I shall never forgive you.”
“To no extent,” I declared hastily (for although I had indeed been listening at the door, it appeared, after the weight which she set upon the incident, more honourable that I should deny it in order to conciliate her mind). “It so chanced that for the moment this person had forgotten whether the handle he was grasping was of the push-out or turn-in variety, and in the involvement a few words of no particular or enduring significance settled lightly upon his perception.
“In that case,” she replied in high-souled liberality, while her eyes scintillated towards me with a really all-overpowering radiance, “I will forgive you.”
“We have an old but very appropriate saying, ‘To every man the voice of one maiden carries further than the rolling of thunder,’” I remarked in a significantly restrained tone; for, although conscious that the circumstance was becoming more menace-laden than I had any previous intention, I found myself to be incapable of extrication. “Florence—”
“Oh,” she exclaimed quickly, raising her polished hand with an undeniable gesture of reproof, “you must not call me by my christian name, Mr. Ho.”
“Yet,” replied this person, with a confessedly stubborn inelegance, “you call me by the name of Ho.”
Her eyes became ox-like in an utter absence of almond outline. “Yes,” she said gazing, “but that—that is not your christian name, is it?”
“In a position of speaking—this one being as a matter of fact a discreditable follower of the sublime Confucius—it may be so regarded,” I answered, “inasmuch as it is the milk-name of childhood.”