Mark evidently wished to be invited to enter the house and Lotte, blushing like a rose, passed the compliment upon him, not feeling altogether sure that she was acting in accordance with the strict rules of rigid propriety.
However, Mark found himself seated in the little room, admiring its tasteful neatness, and chirruping to the little song bird, who hopped about his perch, laid his head knowingly on one side, and cried “sweet” to him almost as familiarly as it did to Lotte.
“I shall make no stranger of you, Mr. Wilton,” said Lotte, renewing her work. “I am very busy, and my work has to be finished at a stated time.”
“Don’t make a stranger of me, I beg,” responded Mark, somewhat earnestly, for after every inspection of Lotte’s figure and face, he grew more anxious for friendly relations with her. “I will talk, and you can work and listen.”
“And talk, too,” said Lotte, with a laugh. “My sex are not very good listeners, unless they have the power to interpolate frequently, you know; but I will try to be a model of attention and goodness. So commence, if you please, sir.”
“I am acquainted with your merits and your virtues,” returned Mark. “Your brother enlarged upon them as we came across the Atlantic together. I knew a great deal about you before I saw you, but I was not quite prepared, I confess, on meeting you, to find——”
“Him stand convicted of such gross exaggeration, as a result of his blind partiality,” interposed Lotte, quickly.
“There you err, Miss Clinton; what I intended to say——”
“Had reference to your sister and your father. You told me so, you know, Mr. Wilton, when you came in,” again interrupted Lotte; this time her cheek heightened its colour, and her smile gave place to rather a grave look.
Mark Wilton bowed.