Something told me that she wanted to know my history. So, in a very few words, I told her who I was, and how I came to be in my present position.
When I had finished, she said in a manner that gave me more pleasure than I can describe:
"Then your father was a clergyman."
It was not the tribute that was paid to my parentage by the respectful manner in which the words were uttered that pleased me so much as the equality that both the words and the way in which they were spoken seemed in some indefinable manner to establish between us. It seemed to me to be the most deliciously delicate and pointed way of saying, "Then you are a gentleman, and my equal."
I could have thanked her more for the few words that had escaped her than if she had given me ten times the money that was in her purse. However, I merely acknowledged her last remark, which was spoken rather to herself than to me, by saying—
"Yes, madam."
We had nearly got to the corner of Cavendish Square by this time. There was another momentary pause, and then she startled me by saying in a perfectly easy and unconstrained manner:
"Pardon me for asking you another question. You must for the present give me credit for not being actuated by any idle or impertinent motive. Are you married, or, if not, is there any one that you at present think of marrying?"
"No, madam," I answered, "I am not, and I have not any thought of being married."
She paused for a moment, and I was beginning to wonder what would come next, when she asked abruptly: