In the evening, the excellent Frenchman made an effort to cheer the two dull young people. He came in confidentially with his fiddle, and said he had a favour to ask. “I possess some knowledge, sir, of the delightful art of dancing. Might I teach young Miss to dance? You see, if I may venture to say so, the other lessons—oh, most useful, most important, the other lessons! but they are just a little serious. Something to relieve her mind, sir—if you will forgive me for mentioning it. I plead for innocent gaiety—let us dance!”
He played a few notes on the fiddle, and placed his right foot in position, and waited amiably to begin. Sally thanked him, and made the excuse that she was tired. She wished Amelius good night, without waiting until they were alone together—and, for the first time, without giving him the customary kiss.
Toff waited until she had gone, and approached his master on tiptoe, with a low bow.
“May I take the liberty of expressing an opinion, sir. A young girl who rejects the remedy of the fiddle presents a case of extreme gravity. Don’t despair, sir! It is my pride and pleasure to be never at a loss, where your interests are concerned. This is, I think, a matter for the ministrations of a woman. If you have confidence in my wife, I venture to suggest a visit from Madame Toff.”
He discreetly retired, and left his master to think about it.
The time passed—and Amelius was still thinking, and still as far as ever from arriving at a conclusion, when he heard a door opened behind him. Sally crossed the room before he could rise from his chair: her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright, her hair fell loose over her shoulders—she dropped at his feet, and hid her face on his knees. “I’m an ungrateful wretch!” she burst out; “I never kissed you when I said good night.”
With the best intentions, Amelius took the worst possible way of composing her—he treated her trouble lightly. “Perhaps you forgot it?” he said.
She lifted her head, and looked at him, with the tears in her eyes. “I’m bad enough,” she answered; “but not so bad as that. Oh, don’t laugh! there’s nothing to laugh at. Have you done with liking me? Are you angry with me for behaving so badly all day, and bidding you good night as if you were Toff? You shan’t be angry with me!” She jumped up, and sat on his knee, and put her arms round his neck. “I haven’t been to bed,” she whispered; “I was too miserable to go to sleep. I don’t know what’s been the matter with me today. I seem to be losing the little sense I ever had. Oh, if I could only make you understand how fond I am of you! And yet I’ve had bitter thoughts, as if I was a burden to you, and I had done a wrong thing in coming here—and you would have told me so, only you pitied the poor wretch who had nowhere else to go.” She tightened her hold round his neck, and laid her burning cheek against his face. “Oh, Amelius, my heart is sore! Kiss me, and say, ‘Good night, Sally!’”
He was young—he was a man—for a moment he lost his self control; he kissed her as he had never kissed her yet.
Then, he remembered; he recovered himself; he put her gently away from him, and led her to the door of her room, and closed it on her in silence. For a little while, he waited alone. The interval over, he rang for Toff.