The young girl, embarrassed by his mode of addressing her, and abashed at his presence, timidly stretched forth her hand containing the bill.
“Nearer, woman, nearer. I cannot reach it.”
Agitated by his voice, she thrust her arm forward so quickly that he received in his grasp her hand as well as her bill. The sight and touch of the soft, white member, thrilled through him. He started, blushed, rose from his chair, and to his surprise discovered that he had been all the while talking to one of the loveliest girls of seventeen he had ever seen, instead of an old woman, whom he supposed was the bearer of his linens.
“Pardon me, miss—I beg pardon,” said the Major embarrassed, “I thought you were your mother.”
“I have no mother, sir,” answered the pretty maiden, with a drooping eyelid.
“I beg pardon! Sit down! No, you may stand! Upon my word you are very beautiful.” The Major hardly knew what he said.
“Sir, the bill if you please,” said the maiden confused, her bright intelligent face suffused with crimson.
“Oh, ah! sit down if you please! no—stand up; no, no, no! sit down!” Poor Major Pierpoint!
“No, I thank you, sir.”
“What a sweet voice,” soliloquized the Major to himself. “No mother?”