“I, sir? I do not think I have done anything amiss.”
“Nor do I, my dear; but as you do not look at me when you speak I thought you must be ashamed of something. Are you ashamed of your fine eyes? You blush. What have you done?”
“You are embarrassing her,” said the mother. “Tell him, my dear, that you have done nothing, but that a feeling of modesty and respect prevents you from gazing at the persons you address.”
“Yes,” said I; “but if modesty bids young ladies lower their eyes, politeness should make them raise them now and again.”
No one replied to this objection, which was a sharp cut for the absurd woman; but after an interval of silence we rose from the table, and Sophie went to fetch her drawings.
“I won’t look at anything, Sophie, unless you will look at me.”
“Come,” said her mother, “look at the gentleman.”
She obeyed as quickly as lightning, and I saw the prettiest eyes imaginable.
“Now,” said I, “I know you again, and perhaps you may remember having seen me.”
“Yes, although it is six years ago since we met, I recognized you directly.”