"Home," said he to the
coachman, and off they went. When he came in she started with
well-feigned surprise, and stared at him.
"Oh," said she, "I have met you before. Why, it is Mr. Severne. Excuse me
taking you for one of the servants. Some people have short memories, you
know."
This deliberate affront was duly felt, but parried with a master-hand.
"Why, I _am_ one of the servants," said he; "only I am not Vizard's. I'm
yours."
"In-deed!"
"If you will let me."
"I am too poor to have fine servants."
"Say too haughty. You are not too poor, for I shan't cost you anything
but a gracious word now and then."
"Unfortunately I don't deal in gracious words, only true ones."
"I see that."
"Then suppose you imitate me, and tell me why you came to meet me?"
This question came from her with sudden celerity, like lightning out of a
cloud, and she bent her eyes on him with that prodigious keenness she
could throw into those steel gray orbs, when her mind put on its full
power of observation.
Severne colored a little, and hesitated.
"Come now," said this keen witch, "don't wait to make up a reason. Tell
the truth for once--quick!--quick!--why did _you_ come to meet _me?"_
"I didn't come to be bullied," replied supple Severne, affecting
sullenness.
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