“I have a character as a gentleman, Mrs. Harrington.”
“Of course.”
“A character for consistency, Mrs. Harrington, to preserve.”
“‘Tis a hard thing to preserve, no doubt,” said my mother.
“But I wish you’d speak plain, for my nerves can’t bear it.”
“Then I can tell you, Mrs. Harrington, your nerves have a great deal to bear yet. What will your nerves feel, madam—what will your enthusiasm say, sir—when I tell you, that I have lost my heart to—a Jewess?”
“Berenice!” cried I.
“Impossible!” cried my mother. “How came you to see her?”
“That’s not for you to know yet; but first, young gentleman, you who are hanging on tenter-hooks, you must hang there a little longer.”
“As long as you please, my dear father,” said I.