Her veil was not down this time. All the beauty of her large, soft, melancholy, brown eyes beamed on me. Her delicate complexion became suddenly suffused with a lovely rosy flush. Her glorious black hair—no! I will make an effort, I will suppress my ecstasies. Let me only say that she evidently recognized me. Will you believe it?—I felt myself coloring as I bowed to her. I never blushed before in my life. What a very curious sensation it is!
The horrid boy claimed her attention with a grin.
“Master’s engaged,” he said. “Please to wait here.”
“I don’t wish to disturb Mr. Pickup,” she answered.
What a voice! No! I am drifting back into ecstasies: her voice was worthy of her—I say no more.
“If you will be so kind as to show him this,” she proceeded; “he knows what it is. And please say, my father is very ill and very anxious. It will be quite enough if Mr. Pickup will only send me word by you—Yes or No.”
She gave the boy an oblong slip of stamped paper. Evidently a promissory note. An angel on earth, sent by an inhuman father, to ask a Jew for discount! Monstrous!
The boy disappeared with the message.
I seized my opportunity of speaking to her. Don’t ask me what I said! Never before (or since) have I talked such utter nonsense, with such intense earnestness of purpose and such immeasurable depth of feeling. Do pray remember what you said yourself, the first time you had the chance of opening your heart to your young lady. The boy returned before I had half done, and gave her back the odious document.
“Mr. Pickup’s very sorry, miss. The answer is, No.”