Such a beginning was so wholly unexpected that Lady Alicia could only give a little gasp of consternation. Her companion, after pausing an instant for a reply, went on in the same tone, “I am aware that I have begun well. I attracted your attention, I elicited your sympathy, and I pressed your hand; but for the life of me I can’t remember what I generally do next.”
Poor Lady Alicia, who had come with a bucketful of sympathy ready to be gulped down by this unfortunate gentleman, was only able to stammer, “I—I really don’t know, Mr——”
“Hamilton,” said Mr Beveridge, unblushingly. “At least that name belongs to me as much as anything can be said to in a world where my creditors claim my money and Dr Congleton my person.”
“You are confined and poor, you mean?” asked Lady Alicia, beginning to see her way again.
“Poor and confined, to put them in their proper order, for if I had the wherewithal to purchase a balloon I should certainly cease to be confined.”
His admirer found it hard to reply adequately to this, [pg 28] and Mr Beveridge continued, “To return to the delicate subject from which we strayed, what would you like me to do,—put my arm round your waist, relate my troubles, or turn my back on you?”
“Are—are those the three ways you spoke of—to make women like you, I mean?” Lady Alicia ventured to ask, though she was beginning to wish the sofa was larger.
“They are examples of the three classical methods: cuddling, humbugging, and piquing. Which do you prefer?”
“Tell me about your—your troubles,” she answered, gaining courage a little.
“You belong to the sex which makes no mention of figs and spades,” he rejoined; “but I understand you to mean that you prefer humbugging.”