“Pay!—could I presume to think Miss Mordaunt would suffer me to pay money for her, or for her servant?”
“You almost make me think you a nat'ral! Young men always pay for young women, and no questions asked. Did you not remark how smartly I offered to pay for this Miss, and how well she took it, until you stepped forward and cut me out;—I bore it, for it saved me three nine-pences.”
“I observed how Miss Mordaunt shrunk from the familiarity of being called Miss, and how unwilling she was to let you buy the tickets; and that I suspect was solely because she saw you had some notion of what you call a treat.”
I cannot enter into the philosophy of the thing, but certainly nothing is more vulgar in English, to address a young lady as Miss, without affixing a name, whereas I know it is the height of breeding to say Mademoiselle in French, and am told the Spaniards, Italians and Germans, use its synonyme in the same manner. I had been indignant at Jason's familiarity when he called Anneke—the pretty Anneke!—Miss; and felt glad of an occasion to let him understand how I felt on the subject.
“What a child you be, a'ter all, Corny!” exclaimed the pedagogue, who was much too good-natured to take offence at a trifle. “You a bachelor of arts! But this matter must be set right, if it be only for the honour of my school. Folks”—Jason never blundered on the words 'one' or 'people' in this sense—“Folks may think that you have been in the school since it has been under my care, and I wouldn't for the world have it get abroad that a youth from my school had neglected to treat a lady under such circumstances.”
Conceiving it useless to remonstrate with me any further, Jason proceeded forthwith to Anneke, with whom he begged permission to say a word in private. So eager was my companion to wipe out the stain, and so surprised was the young lady, who gently declined moving more than a step, that the conference took place immediately under my observation, neither of the parties being aware that I necessarily heard or saw all that passed.
“You must excuse Corny, Miss,” Jason commenced, producing his purse again, and beginning to hunt anew for a quarter and a shilling; “he is quite young, and knows nawthin' worth speaking of, of the ways of mankind. Ah! here is just the money—three ninepennies, or three York shillings. Here, Miss, excuse Corny, and overlook it all; when he is older, he will not make such blunders.”
“I am not certain that I understand you, sir!” exclaimed Anneke, who had shrunk back a little at the 'Miss,' and who now saw Jason hold out the silver, with a surprise she took no pains to conceal.
“This is the price of the tickets—yes, that's all. Naw-thin' else, on honour. Corny, you remember, was so awful dumb as to let you pay, just as if you had been a gentleman.”
Anneke now smiled, and glancing at me at the same instant, a bright blush suffused her face, though the meaning of my eye, as I could easily see, strongly tempted her to laugh.