Beecher was not sorry at the opportunity of a little dis-play. He was glad to show Davis that in the great world of society he could play no insignificant part; and so he put forth all his little talents as a talker, with choice anecdotes of “smart people,” and the sayings and doings of a set which, to Grog, were as much myths as the inscriptions on an Assyrian monument. Lizzy Davis evidently took interest in his account of London and its life. She liked, too, to hear about the families of her schoolfellows, some of whom bore “cognate” names, and she listened with actual eagerness to descriptions of the gorgeous splendor and display of a town “season.” “And I am to see all these fine things, and know all these fine people, papa?” asked she. “Yes, I suppose so,--one of these days, at least,” muttered Grog, not caring to meet Beecher's eye. “I don't think you care for this kind of life so much as Mr. Beecher, pa. Is their frivolity too great for your philosophy?” “It ain't that!” muttered Grog, growing confused. “Then do tell me, now, something of the sort of people you are fond of; the chances are that I shall like them just as well as the others.” Beecher and Davis exchanged glances of most intense significance; and were it not from downright fear, Beecher would have burst out laughing. “Then I will ask Mr. Beecher,” said she, gayly. “_You 'll_ not be so churlish as papa, I 'm certain. _You 'll_ tell me what his world is like?” “Well, it's a very smart world too,” said Beecher, slyly enjoying the malicious moment of worrying Grog with impunity. “Not so many pretty women in it, perhaps, but plenty of movement, plenty of fun,--eh, Davis? Are you fond of horses, Miss Davis?” “Passionately; and I flatter myself I can ride too. By the way, is it true, papa, you have brought a horse from England for me?” “Who could have told you that?” said Davis, almost sternly. “My maid heard it from a groom that has just arrived, but with such secrecy that I suppose I have destroyed all the pleasure of the surprise you intended me; never mind, dearest pa, I am just as grateful--” “Grateful for nothing,” broke in Davis. “The groom is a prating rascal, and your maid ought to mind her own affairs.” Then reddening to his temples with shame at his ill-temper, he added, “There is a horse, to be sure, but he ain't much of a lady's palfrey.” “What would you say to her riding Klepper in the Allée Verte,--it might be a rare stroke?” asked Beecher, in a whisper to Davis. “Do you think that _she_ is to be brought into _our_ knaveries? Is _that_ all you have learned from what I 've been saying to you?” whispered Davis, with a look of such savage ferocity that Beecher grew sick at heart with terror. “I 'm sorry to break in upon such confidential converse,” said she, laughingly, “but pray remember we are losing the first scene of the opera.” “I 'm at your orders,” said Beecher, as, with his accustomed easy gallantry, he stepped forward to offer her his arm.