Belle looked at me for a moment, and then appeared to be lost in thought—“America!” said she, musingly—“America!”
“What of America?” said I.
“I have heard that it is a mighty country.”
“I dare say it is,” said I; “I have heard my father say that the Americans are first-rate marksmen.”
“I heard nothing about that,” said Belle; “what I heard was, that it is a great and goodly land, where people can walk about without jostling, and where the industrious can always find bread; I have frequently thought of going thither.”
“Well,” said I, “the Radical in the public-house will perhaps be glad of your company thither; he is as great an admirer of America as yourself, though I believe on different grounds.”
“I shall go by myself,” said Belle, “unless—unless that should happen which is not likely—I am not fond of Radicals no more than I am of scoffers and mockers.”
“Do you mean to say that I am a scoffer and mocker?”
“I don’t wish to say you are,” said Belle; “but some of your words sound strangely like scoffing and mocking. I have now one thing to beg, which is, that if you have anything to say against America, you would speak it out boldly.”
“What should I have to say against America? I never was there.”