Lottie Pilgrim was standing under the hall burners with her elbow on the newel-post, more vividly charming than he had ever seen her before, at Mrs. Crajncroud's sociable or elsewhere. When startled by the apparition of Mr. Daniel Lovegrove instead of little Rumbullion whom she was expecting—she had no time to exclaim or hide her mounting color, none at all to explain to her own mind the mistake that had occurred, before his arm was clasped around her waist and his lips so closely pressed to hers that, through her soft, thick hair she could feel the throbbing of his temples. As for Daniel, he seemed in a walking dream, from which he waked to see Miss Pilgrim looking into his eyes with utter, though not incensed stupefaction,—to stammer, “Forgive me! do forgive me! I thought you were in, earnest.”
“So I was,” she said tremulously, as soon as she could catch her voice, “in sending for my cousin Reginald.”
“Oh dear, what shall I do! Believe me, I was told you wanted me. Let me go and explain it to mother. She will tell the rest—I couldn't do it—I'd die of mortification. Oh, that wretched boy Billy!”
On the principle already mentioned, his agitation reassured her.
“Don't try to explain it now—it may get Billy a scolding. Are there any but intimate family friends here this evening?”
“No—I believe—no—I'm sure,” replied Daniel, collecting his faculties.
“Then I don't mind what they think. Perhaps they'll suppose we've known each other long; but we'll arrange it by and by. They'll think the more of it the longer we stay out here—hear them laugh! I must run back now. I'll send you somebody.”
A round of juvenile applause greeted her as she hurried into the parlor, and a number of grown people smiled quite musically. Her quick woman's wit told her how to retaliate and divide the embarrassment of the occasion. As she passed me she said in an undertone:
“Answer quick! Who is that fat lady on the sofa who laughed so loud?”
“Mrs. Cromwell Craggs,” said I, quietly.