Herman looked at cupid in the ceiling and pretended to brush a hair from his nose—
"Ah, I remember, poor Mr. Burney told me last night, that his child had been abducted. Yes,—" Herman looked at the hair, and held it between his eyes and the light, "he told me about it just before the accident occurred. Poor girl! Poor girl! Oh, by-the-bye," turning suddenly in his arm-chair, but without looking into the face of Dermoyne, "you take an interest in the Burney family. Are you a relative?"
"I have visited the house of Mr. Burney, from time to time, and have seen Alice, his only daughter. You may think me romantic, but to see that girl, so pure, so innocent, so beautiful, was to love her. I will confess that had it not been for a disparity of fortune, and a difference in regard to religious views, between her father and myself, I would have been most happy to have made her my wife."
The tone of the young man was somewhat agitated; he was endeavoring to suppress his emotions.
"Courage! He does not know," muttered Herman to himself, and then assuming a calm look, he continued, aloud: "And she would have made you a noble wife. By-the-bye, you spoke of your profession. A merchant, I suppose?"
"No, sir."
"A lawyer?"
"No, sir."
"A medical gentleman?"
"No, sir."