"Good-evening," said her visitor, extending his hand.
She did not accept it; but merely inclined her head, saying: "Ah, how do you do, sir?"
He laid a package on the table, drew a chair near the hearth without
looking at her, and, calling to Charon, patted his huge head kindly.
"What have you there, Miss Beulah? Merely a newspaper; it seems to
interest you intensely. May I see it?"
"I am certainly very much obliged to you, sir, for the chivalrous
spirit in which you indited your criticism. I was just pondering it
when you entered."
She smiled as she spoke, and shook the paper at him.
"I thought I had feigned a style you would not recognize," he
answered quite unconcernedly.
"You succeeded admirably, with the exception of one pet phrase,
which betrayed you. Next time, recollect that you are very partial
to some particular expressions, with which I happen to be
acquainted; and avoid their introduction."
"I rather think I shall not repeat the experiment; especially as my
arguments seem to have failed signally in their design. Are you
quite sure that you understand my review perfectly?"
He looked a little curious--she fancied disappointed--and she
replied laughingly: "Oh, I think I do; it is not so very abstruse."
He leaned forward, took the paper from her, before she was aware of
his intention, and threw it into the fire.
She looked surprised, and he offered his hand once more.
"Are we still friends? Will you shake hands with your reviewer?"
She unhesitatingly put her hand in his, and answered: "Friendship is not a gossamer thread, to be severed by a stroke of
the pen."
She endeavored to withdraw her fingers, but he held them firmly,
while his blue eyes rested upon her with an expression she by no
means liked. Her black brows met in a heavy frown, and her lips
parted angrily. He saw it, and instantly released her hand.
"Miss Beulah, my uncle commissioned me to say to you that he
received a letter to-day from Dr. Hartwell. It was written during
his voyage down the Red Sea, and contained a long farewell, as
inland travel would afford no facilities for writing."
He noted the tight clasp in which her fingers locked each other, and
the livid paleness of her lips and brow, as the long lashes drooped
and she sat silently listening. Charon laid his head on her knee and
looked up at her. There was a brief silence, and Mr. Lindsay added
slowly: "My uncle fears he will never return. Do you cherish the hope?"