"The good breeding, from which it springs!" exclaimed the governor, finishing the eulogy.
Attending a lady from the dinner-table at the St. Nicholas, in New York, she begged me to wait with her for a few minutes, near the passage conducting to the drawing-rooms, saying, playfully, that she wished to way-lay a gentleman. "I have been all the morning," she then explained, "trying to meet a Russian friend of ours, who is certainly staying here, though we cannot succeed in seeing him. My husband charged me, before we parted this morning, as he was obliged to go out of town for the day, with a message for our friend, which he said must be delivered by me in person. Ah, there he is now!" and she advanced a step towards an elderly gentleman accompanying a lady.
I released her arm from mine, of course, and retired a little; the other lady also simultaneously withdrawing. I bowed respectfully to her.
"Have you ever chanced to remark this picture?" inquired the fair stranger of me, as we stood thus near each other, turning towards the painting of the patron saint of the Knickerbockers, which graced the main staircase of the hotel; "it is very appropriately selected."
Nothing could be more unmistakably refined and high-bred than the bearing of the interlocutor, while we chatted a moment or two longer.
"I beg your pardon, madam, for depriving you of your cavalier; nothing but necessity could excuse it"—began the lady, who had been talking earnestly in the meanwhile with the Russian, approaching us. She was at once relieved from making further explanation.
"Pray don't name it—and allow me to renew my slight acquaintance with you," offering her hand.
"With pleasure," returned my fair friend, instantly; but she looked a little puzzled, despite her courtesy.
"I see you do not recollect the weary traveller who was so much obliged to your politeness in the hotel in Washington, the other night. The only stranger-lady (turning to her attendant) I have met in this country, who has rendered me the slightest civility."