“There,” said he, holding out his right hand,—“there is my hand,—you may h-h-h-h-ave it if you want it.” And immediately, as though he had said more than he had intended, blushed to the roots of his hair.
“Nonsense!” said she, coloring slightly. “Why do you tantalize people so? The other!”
“The other? There they are, both of them.”
“But which is the finger that you cut?”
“Who said I c-c-c-ut my finger?”
“Do you mean to say—” began Jones; but shouts of laughter interrupted his question, and, turning to a group of students, he pursed up his mouth and emitted a long but inaudible whistle. Charley, meanwhile, was assailed with questions by the girls as to what made him suspect that the Don was a musician; but he passed, smiling and silent, towards the western door, and he stood there bowing the ladies out on their way to the Hall.
“Fiend in human shape!” breathed Alice, as she passed out, threatening him with upraised forefinger.
“Do you really think so?” asked he, in a hurried, half-choking whisper,—the idiot!
The enchantress stopped, and slowly turning her head, as she stood with one foot upon the pavement and the other on the step above, turning her head, all gilded and glorious with the mellow rays of the setting sun, gave him one Parthian glance, half saucy, half serious, and bounded forward to overtake her companions. Charley, with his eyes riveted upon her retiring figure, stood motionless till she had disappeared within the Hall. Did he hope—the simpleton—for another look?
The Don and I were lingering on the Hall steps when Charley came up.