“At home, in Louisiana.”
“Ah! yes. Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle—I have never been there; but it comes to me here when you come, Miss Plumer.”
Still the slight persiflage to cover the audacity.
“And so, Mr. Newt, I have the honor of seeing the gentleman of whom I have heard most this winter.”
“What will not our enemies say of us, Miss Plumer?”
“You have no enemies,” replied she, “except, perhaps—no, I’ll not mention them.”
“Who? who? I insist,” said Abel, looking at Grace Plumer earnestly for a moment, then dropping his eyes upon her very pretty and very be-ringed white hands, where the eyes lingered a little and worshipped in the most evident manner.
“Except, then, your own sex,” said the little Louisianian, half blushing.
“I do them no harm,” replied Abel.
“No; but you make them jealous.”