His words would fill pages; his topics
were, that Miss Gale was an extraordinary woman, but too masculine for
his taste, and had made her own troubles setting up doctress, when her
true line was governess--for boys. He was also glib and satirical upon
that favorite butt, a friend.
"Who but a _soi-disant_ woman-hater would pick up a strange virago and
send his sister to her with twenty pounds? I'll tell you what it is, Miss
Vizard--"
Here Miss Vizard, who had sat dead silent under a flow of words, which is
merely indicated above, laid her hand on his arm to stop the flux for a
moment, and said, quietly, _"Do_ you know her? tell me."
"Know her! How should I?"
"I thought you might have met her--abroad."
"Well, it is possible, of course, but very unlikely. If I did, I never
spoke to her, or I should have remembered her. _Don't you think so?"_
"She seemed very positive; and I think she is an accurate person. She
seemed quite surprised and mortified when you said 'No.'"
"Well, you know, of course it is a mortifying thing when a lady claims a
gentleman's acquaintance, and the gentleman doesn't admit it. But what
could I do? I couldn't tell a lie about it--could I?"
"Of course not.
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