“After conducting me to the parlor,” explained Mrs. Poythress, “he excused himself and went to his room. I fancied he was not very well.”
“Indeed!” said Mr. Whacker. “Zip, you go—”
Charley made a motion to Moses,—Zip for short,—and rising from the table and bowing his excuses, he left the room.
“I am a little afraid,” continued Mrs. Poythress, turning to me, who chanced to be her nearest neighbor at table, “that your friend over-strained himself in that tremendous leap he made to save me from falling. I am sure I felt his arm tremble as we walked towards the house. Then he was so very silent. Is he always so?”
“Generally; though I do not think it is altogether natural to him. He seems to constrain himself to silence from some motive or other; but every now and then he loses control of himself, it would seem, and breaks forth into a real torrent of brilliant talk,—no, brilliant is not the word—though torrent is. When he bursts forth in this impassioned way, he carries everything before him. By the way, his leaping is of the same character. Do you know I had to change my shoes? For when he sprang to catch you, he actually knocked me into the water.”
“What eyes he has! Such a concentrated look! And no one,” she added after a pause, “has any idea who he is?”
“Not the slightest.”
“Is it possible? What a number of strange people your dear old grandfather has contrived to bring to Elmington from time to time! Where he has found them all, or how they have found him, has always been a mystery to me.”
“Yes, but the Don is not one of grandfather’s captures. Charley must have the credit of bringing him in.”
“Then he is a good man,” replied she, with decision. “Charley never makes any mistakes. But here comes Master Charles.”