In the meantime I stole a look at the little lady. She was in a
state of pitiable discomposure, and her arms shook on her lap in
her black lace mittens.
'Madam--' I began.
And she, in the same moment, finding her voice: 'O, what you must
think of me!'
'Madam,' said I, 'what must any gentleman think when he sees youth,
beauty and innocence in distress? I wish I could tell you that I
was old enough to be your father; I think we must give that up,' I
continued, with a smile. 'But I will tell you something about
myself which ought to do as well, and to set that little heart at
rest in my society. I am a lover. May I say it of myself--for I
am not quite used to all the niceties of English--that I am a true
lover? There is one whom I admire, adore, obey; she is no less
good than she is beautiful; if she were here, she would take you to
her arms: conceive that she has sent me--that she has said to me,
"Go, be her knight!"'
'O, I know she must be sweet, I know she must be worthy of you!'
cried the little lady. 'She would never forget female decorum--nor
make the terrible erratum I've done!'
And at this she lifted up her voice and wept.
This did not forward matters: it was in vain that I begged her to
be more composed and to tell me a plain, consecutive tale of her
misadventures; but she continued instead to pour forth the most
extraordinary mixture of the correct school miss and the poor
untutored little piece of womanhood in a false position--of
engrafted pedantry and incoherent nature.
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