When he was gone, we both parted with our books; and Mr. Macartney, again producing the paper with the money, besought me to accept it.
“Pray,” said I, still declining it, “did you know the young lady who came into the pump-room yesterday morning?”
“Know her!” repeated he, changing colour, “Oh, but too well!”
“Indeed!”
“Why, Madam, do you ask?”
“I must beseech you to satisfy me further upon this subject; pray tell me who she is.”
“Inviolably as I meant to keep my secret, I can refuse you, Madam, nothing;-that lady-is the daughter of Sir John Belmont!-of my father!”
“Gracious Heaven!” cried I, involuntarily laying my hand on his arm, “you are then-” my brother, I would have said, but my voice failed me, and I burst into tears.
“Oh, Madam,” cried he, “what does this mean?-what can thus distress you?”
I could not answer, but held out my hand to him. He seemed greatly surprised, and talked in high terms of my condescension.