By this time he had recovered complete possession of his own impudence; his party-colored eyes twinkled cheerfully, and he accompanied his modest announcement of himself with a dancing-master’s bow.
Magdalen frowned, and drew back a step. The captain was not a man to be daunted by a cold reception. He tucked his umbrella under his arm and jocosely spelled his name for her further enlightenment. “W, R, A, double G, E—Wragge,” said the captain, ticking off the letters persuasively on his fingers.
“I remember your name,” said Magdalen. “Excuse me for leaving you abruptly. I have an engagement.”
She tried to pass him and walk on northward toward the railway. He instantly met the attempt by raising both hands, and displaying a pair of darned black gloves outspread in polite protest.
“Not that way,” he said; “not that way, Miss Vanstone, I beg and entreat!”
“Why not?” she asked haughtily.
“Because,” answered the captain, “that is the way which leads to Mr. Huxtable’s.”
In the ungovernable astonishment of hearing his reply she suddenly bent forward, and for the first time looked him close in the face. He sustained her suspicious scrutiny with every appearance of feeling highly gratified by it. “H, U, X—Hux,” said the captain, playfully turning to the old joke: “T, A—ta, Huxta; B, L, E—ble; Huxtable.”
“What do you know about Mr. Huxtable?” she asked. “What do you mean by mentioning him to me?”
The captain’s curly lip took a new twist upward. He immediately replied, to the best practical purpose, by producing the handbill from his pocket.