“Jones first, the Jenkins afterward,” she stammered. “I didn’t live with the same people all the time.”
“I have been interested in hearing of you from a friend who made the trip with you,” he said, mildly.
“Mr. Delessert!” she exclaimed.
“No, not Mr. Delessert.”
It was Mr. Delessert, and she grew pale and sick and faint, and the words, “A companion to gamblers,” ran stupidly through her mind. She did not like this man with his stealthy air of measuring her and summing up her airs and graces. She felt humiliated and ashamed. Mr. Danvers never treated her in that way. She had never seen him look as this man looked, except upon the occasions when he had a fine pink and white young pig to sell, and was running his eye over it in anticipation of the market; and she flushed and quivered all over, as if she, too, were an unfortunate animal with a butcher’s knife suspended over her. But she must drive away these shocking thoughts and listen, for her companion was again addressing her.
“I suppose it would be asking too much of you to accompany me to London to-night?”
“I should rather think so,” she said, indignantly, “and how do I know that you are not a fraud?”
His indulgent air, and the manner in which he waved his hand toward the papers on her lap, might have convinced her that he was her parent; but she would not be convinced.
“Then I shall wait and see Lady Forrest,” he said, calmly. “She will comprehend the justice of my claim.”
Nina grew hot all over, and began to measure him from Lady Forrest’s standpoint. He was not quite a gentleman, in spite of his quiet manner. His black suit was also a trifle shabby. He must be poor,—this would-be father of hers; and she writhed in inward mortification. Lady Forrest would probably ask him to stay all night. She would break down and cry if this were done. Oh, if ’Steban were only here!