I drew nearer, impatiently; and was conscious that four other young men in white waistcoats and gloves quite as irreproachable as my own stood ready to claim her the instant she was free. I did not propose to be thwarted by the beaux of Cincinnati, so I stepped toward Doctor Armstrong.
“I beg your pardon, Doctor—,” I said with an assurance for which I blush to this hour.
“All right, my boy; I, too, have been in Arcady!” he exclaimed in cheerful apology, and she put her hand on my arm and I led her away.
“He called me ‘my boy,’ so I must be passing muster,” I remarked, not daring to look at her.
“He’s afraid not to recognize you. His inability to remember faces is a town joke.”
We reached a quiet corner of the great hall and I found a seat for her.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,—you knew I would come. I should have come across the world for this,—for just this.”
Her eyes were grave at once.
“Why did you come? I did not think you were so foolish. This is all—so wretched,—so unfortunate. You didn’t know that Mr. Pickering—Mr. Pickering—”
She was greatly distressed and this name came from her chokingly.