“Yes—the bindery girl!”
“Well! Why don’t you report? What do you want to keep me in suspense for?” cried the spoiled pet of fortune.
“She is very beautiful. The prettiest girl, in face and form, that I have ever seen in all my life.”
And Frank gulped down a sigh.
“A bindery girl, smelling of sour paste and leather—beautiful! Oh, Frank, I thought you had some taste, some knowledge of refinement.”
“I hope I have, sister mine. If you had hands as small and white, and fingers that tapered down to the rosy nails as do hers, you would throw off your half-dozen diamond rings and let your hand speak for itself. And such a form—not made up, but fresh from nature’s choicest mold.”
“You, Frank! You traitor!”
“What do you mean, Lizzie?”
“You went down there to see that your father was not snared by that siren—to have her discharged, sent away. Have you done it?”
“No, Lizzie, there is no cause for her discharge, and Mr. W—— laughed at the idea. Father did not exchange twenty words with her, and they were purely on business, and in Mr. W——’s presence.”