of relief. “Are you a man of rank and title yourself?”
“Far from it. I am only a drawing-master.”
As the reply passed my lips—a little bitterly, perhaps—she took my arm with the abruptness which characterised all her actions.
“Not a man of rank and title,” she repeated to herself. “Thank God! I may trust HIM.”
I had hitherto contrived to master my curiosity out of consideration for my companion; but it got the better of me now.
“I am afraid you have serious reason to complain of some man
the chair; “and on such gratifying terms of equality too!”
“Yes, yes; the terms, in every sense, are tempting enough,” I replied impatiently. “But before I send in my testimonials, I should like a little time to consider----”
“Consider!” exclaimed my mother. “Why, Walter, what is the matter with