"Well, my dear," said Frank, "I see you suspect my stratagem. But you are such a sweet pretty creature, that I was resolved to introduce myself to you. Now don't be angry, my love: I mean all I assert—and if you will only tell me where and when I can see you again, I'm sure you won't be sorry to make my acquaintance."
"Upon my word!" cried the young woman, in that dubious manner which might have meant disgust, or which might be taken as encouragement.
Mr. Curtis, strong in his self-conceit, adopted the latter view, and became more pressing in his attentions.
"Now do let me see you again, there's a dear," he exclaimed, continuing to walk by her side. "If you'll only agree to meet me this evening, I'll take you to the play—and I'll buy you a gold chain. Money is no object to me, my love: a man with ten thousand a-year—and a peerage in the perspective—may indulge his little fancies, I hope."
These falsehoods, conveyed by implication, were uttered in such a tone of assurance, that the young woman was evidently dazzled by their splendour; and she threw a rapid, but encouraging glance towards the mendacious Frank.
"Come, now—will you meet me again?" he demanded. "I was going over to stay a few days with the Prime Minister of France early next month; and I had promised to pass my Christmas with his Holiness the Pope at Rome:—but if you was only kind, now—why, there's no saying that I might not send excuses to both of them, and stay in London for the pleasure of seeing you."
"But you men are such gay deceivers," said the young female.
"Well—we may be—sometimes!" ejaculated Frank, rather looking upon the imputation as a compliment than a reproach. "But you're too pretty for a man to find it in his heart to deceive you, my dear. In one word, where shall you be at seven o'clock this evening?"
"I did think of calling upon a friend which is lady's-maid in a family living in Conduit Street," replied the young woman.
"And if your friend is a lady's-maid, my dear," said Frank, "what may you be?"