Yet as he thought this, he was not insensible to the music of her soft, low voice, the liquid tenderness of her eye, and the charm of her manner. She seemed at once to confide herself to him—to own the superiority of his nature and seek shelter in it. Circumstances threw them exclusively into one another’s way, and they found each other so congenial that they took advantage of circumstances to the utmost.
There were others as well as Brandon who found it awkward not to have any name by which to address her, and chief of these was the good Captain. After calling her Ma’am and Miss indifferently for about a month he at last determined to ask her directly; so, one day at the dinner-table, he said:
“I most humbly beg your pardon, ma’am; but I do not know your name, and have never had a chance to find it out. If it’s no offense, perhaps you would be so good as to tell it?”
The young lady thus addressed flushed crimson, then looked at Brandon, who was gazing fixedly on his plate, and with visible embarrassment said, very softly, “Beatrice.”
“B. A. Treachy,” said the Captain. “Ah! I hope, Miss Treachy, you will pardon me; but I really found it so everlasting confusing.”
A faint smile crossed the lips of Brandon. But Beatrice did not smile. She looked a little frightened, and then said:
“Oh, that is only my Christian name!”
“Christian name!” said the Captain. “How can that be a Christian name?”
“My surname is—” She hesitated, and then, with an effort, pronounced the word “Potts.”
“‘Potts!’” said the Captain, quickly, and with evident surprise. “Oh—well, I hope you will excuse me.”