He called her, in reply, a saucy girl, and threatened that another time he would not take her out walking with him; whilst she persisted in asserting that it was she to whom he was obliged for his excursion, and that she and Miss Watson could have done perfectly well without him.
They then commenced their return homewards, and George told his sister to invite Miss Watson to dine with them on the plea of being too late for her own dinner. Elizabeth expressed herself exceedingly ready to comply, and it was so settled.
When within half a mile of the town, they met Alfred Freemantle, who was enjoying a stroll on his escape from the office. Uninvited, he joined them, and placed himself by the side of Miss Millar, who was leaning on her brother's arm. She put up her lip in a very contemptuous way, and a moment after, changed to the other side, and found a refuge for herself between Elizabeth and George, where she was safe from him. He saw the manœuvre, and mortified at it, tried in his turn to mortify her, by enthusiastic praises of the absent Emma.
"What a sweet, charming girl she is—I don't know when I have seen anything which pleased me better—those sparkling black eyes, and the clear olive complexion, are perfection in my eyes; and her manners—so sweet—so ladylike, she is quite bewitching."
"You cannot praise her too much for me," replied Annie, quite sincerely; "I have been raving about her ever since last night, and so long as you make use of suitable and judicious terms, you may extol her beauty till you are worn out with fatigue."
"I intend to write an acrostic on her name," said he, in a most self-satisfied tone, "perhaps you did not know it; but I am considered rather to shine in that way; I have made capital verses."
"So you have told me, Mr. Freemantle, before; indeed, I remember, on one occasion, your presenting me with some lines which, from the style and manner, I should have judged impossible to be your own composition, but for your affirmation of that fact; of course, therefore, I am aware of your talents."
"I am only too much flattered by your remembering the circumstance at all, Miss Millar—you don't happen to recollect the lines, do you?"
"No, indeed: I remember the fact, because I know a cousin of mine who was staying with us at the time, amused himself with cutting the paper into the smallest possible morsels, and I only read the lines once in consequence."
The utter carelessness with which this assertion was made, would have been sufficient to overwhelm an ordinarily modest man, but he did not appear distressed, only interposing with a declaration that he thought he could remember the little poem—accordingly he commenced reciting—