“Madam, some one has offended you,” he said, instantly setting down his wine, and walking toward her and the door. “Where is the person?”
She raised her hand to check him, frightened at having created the possibility of a scene. “Nay, ’tis nothing! Stay, I beg you, sir!”
“Who could be ungentle to one who is all gentleness?” cried Everell. “It must have occurred but now—they must be near—in this inn. In what room? Pray tell me.”
“’Twas nothing, sir, I assure you. I spoke in a moment of foolish vexation. I was merely annoyed at their talk. I had no right to be—no offence was meant.”
“People should be careful that offence is not given, as well as not meant. They should be chastised for their carelessness, if for nothing more.”
“Nay, it is not to be heard of. Two of them are of my own sex, and another is my relation. I had no real cause to be angry. The fault is all mine, indeed. I have been much in the wrong to leave them so rudely,—and more in the wrong to speak of the matter to a stranger. Pray forget all I have said, sir,—pray do, as you are a gentleman.”
He had been on the point of answering at the end of each sentence, but her rapidity of speech prevented. She stopped now, with a look that continued her appeal and besought an assurance.
“As I am a gentleman,” said Everell, “I will obey your least command—or your greatest. But as I am a gentleman, I would not have you consider me as a stranger. I grant we have never met before; but such true and gentle eyes as yours make friends of all who are privileged to see them. As for my own deserts, I can plead only the respect and tenderness your looks compel. Believe me, nothing in the suddenness of this meeting can make me act lightly toward you, or think lightly of you, if you will do me the honour to count me among your friends. My name is—”
A loud “hem” from Roughwood, who had been looking on with astonishment at his friend’s earnest and precipitate demonstration of regard, made Everell stop short. Georgiana, who had listened and gazed with a bewilderment that had something exceedingly novel and pleasant in it, was at a loss how to fill the pause with speech or act. She stood feeling quite incapable and delighted; but her face betrayed nothing unusual except wonder, which very well became it. Everell, however, did not leave her long suspended. With a smile at his own predicament, he resumed:
“Egad, I have a choice of names to tell, madam. For certain reasons, I don’t parade my true name at present.—And yet why not in this case? I wouldn’t deal in falsehood even so slight, with one whose looks declare—”