“He admires me, and because he is wealthy, Mabel has suggested that a marriage is possible,” she answered.
“He admires you!” I echoed. “Who is he? what is he?”
With some surprise she regarded me, perhaps alarmed at the fierce manner in which I had demanded an explanation.
“I really know very little except that his income is fabulously large, and that he is regarded by many mothers as a substantial matrimonial prize,” she replied, adding, “I really don’t know his—well, I—”
“Suppose we go into the next room,” Jack interposed, evidently to hide Dora’s embarrassment. “There is a piano there, although I’m afraid you’ll find it sadly out of tune.”
“A piano! I really can’t play to-night.”
“Oh, but you must,” I said laughing. “Remember, you came here to spend the evening, and the penalty for coming to a man’s chambers is to bring brightness to his life.”
We had both risen. With seeming reluctance she also rose, and together we went into an adjoining room, well furnished with a few handsome pieces of old oak, a quantity of bric-à-brac, and many strange arms and curios which their owner had picked up in out-of-the-way corners of the world.
The apartment was half dining-room, half drawing-room, with dark upholstered chairs, the walls papered a dull red, the effect of the whole being so severe that the shaded lamps seemed to cast no radiance around, but to die out like water drunk up by sand.
Jack, noticing the inconvenient position of the piano, dragged it toward the fire, then bringing a music-stool, he placed a fire-screen behind it, and falling back into an easy-chair, said, “Now we are ready to listen.”