CHAPTER XXVI.
THE LADY'S-MAID.
In the meantime Mr. Frank Curtis had met the buxom Charlotte, according to appointment, in Conduit Street.
The youthful lady's-maid, who had not numbered quite nineteen years, but who concealed a warm temperament and a disposition ripe for wanton mischief, beneath a staid and serious demeanour, when in the presence of her mistress or of those in whose eyes it was prudent to be looked upon as "a very prudent and steady young woman,"—the youthful lady's-maid, we say, walked quietly along the street, and pretended not to notice Mr. Curtis, who was leaning against a lamp-post, smoking a cigar.
But the light of the lamp fell upon her pretty countenance; and he, having immediately recognised her, stretched out his hand and caught her by the shawl, saying, "Well, Miss—do you mean to pretend you didn't see me?"
"Lor'! you there now!" exclaimed Charlotte, affecting to be quite surprised at this encounter.
"Just as if you thought I shouldn't come!" cried Frank, laughing. "But take my arm, my dear; and though this very arm has often supported duchesses—and marchionesses—and even on one occasion the young and beautiful queen of the Red-Skin Indians,—yet I don't know that it was ever more agreeably pressed than by your pretty little fingers."
"How fine you do talk!" said Charlotte, by no means displeased with the compliment. "But where are you going?"
"Oh! I'll show you, my dear," returned Frank, as he led her along. "And now tell me—has anything happened in respect to you know what?"
"Yes—a great deal," answered Charlotte. "But here I am walking with a gentleman whose very name I don't even know! Isn't it odd?"
"Very, my dear. I will, however, soon satisfy you on that head. My name is Mr. Curtis to the world—but Frank to you; and some day or another I hope to be Baron Dumplington. But what was it that you had to tell me?"