“Friend,” returned the young lady, “I am not thus termed; I am simply called Rachael.”
“What a pretty name!” I replied, for want of something else to say.
“It was that of my grandmother,” returned the lady.
“Well—Rachael,” I continued, “I fear my late visit occasioned some confusion. Certainly the mistakes of last night were singular and ridiculous.”
“They were, indeed,” replied the pretty maiden, raising her eyes, which, for the first time, now encountered mine; and, by a mutual impulse, we both burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Egad, we were thinking of the same thing; and the remembrance of that confounded kiss of peace had thus demolished the gravity of both.
“Rachael,” I said, catching one of the prettiest hands imaginable in mine, “I must confess my offence, and throw myself for pardon on your clemency.”
“I have nothing to forgive,” replied the fair one, demurely.
“To its fullest extent I own my crime. The temptation, dear Rachael, was too great to be withstood—but, as a proof of returning probity, I will restore what was fraudulently obtained.”
“Hector,” returned the blushing girl, while an arch smile ‘play’d round her lip and brighten’d her soft eye,’—“I admire thy honesty; but I have heard my father say, that it is generally better to put up with a loss, than seek restitution by doubtful means. Therefore, my friend, we had better leave matters as they are.”
“Heaven forbid,” I replied, “that I should abuse such generosity.”