"I thank you," said John with dignity. "And, second," he continued—"I want your assurance that my extreme confusion and awkwardness on the occasion of our meeting later were rightly interpreted."
"Certainly—certainly," said the landlady with the kindliest sympathy.
"I am grateful—utterly," said John, with newer dignity. "And then," he went on,—"after informing you that it is impossible for the best friend I have in the world to be with me at this hour, as intended, I want you to do me the very great honor of dining with me. Will you?"
"Why, certainly," said the charming little landlady—"and a thousand thanks besides! But tell me something of your friend," she continued, as they were being served. "What is he like—and what is his name—and where is he?"
"Well," said John warily,—"he's like all young fellows of his age. He's quite young, you know— not over thirty, I should say—a mere boy, in fact, but clever—talented—versatile."
"—Unmarried, of course," said the chatty little woman.
"Oh, yes!" said John, in a matter-of-course tone —but he caught himself abruptly—then stared intently at his napkin—glanced evasively at the side- face of his questioner, and said,—"Oh, yes! Yes, indeed! He's unmarried.—Old bachelor like myself, you know. Ha! Ha!"
"So he's not like the young man here that distinguished himself last night?" said the little woman archly.
The fork in John's hand, half-lifted to his lips, faltered and fell back toward his plate.
"Why, what's that?" said John in a strange
voice; "I hadn't heard anything about it—I mean
I haven't heard anything about any young man.
What was it?"