“Oh, by Jove! I know I' m very slow sort of fellow as a ladies' man; have none of the small talents of those foreigners; couldn't tell Mozart from Verdi; nor, though I can see when a woman is well togged, could I tell you the exact name of any one part of her dress.” “If you really did know all these, and talked of them, I might have found you very tiresome,” said she, in that half-careless voice she used when seeming to think aloud. “And you,” asked she, suddenly, as she turned her eyes fully upon him,--“and you, are you to be emancipated then,--are you going to leave us?” “As to that,” replied he, in deep embarrassment, “there 'a a sort of hitch in it I ought, if I did the right thing, to be on my way to Italy now, to see Lackington,--my brother, I mean. I came abroad for that; but Gr--your father, I should say--induced me to join _him_, and so, with one thing and the other, here I am, and that's really all I know about it.” “What a droll way to go through life!” said she, with one of her low, soft laughs. “If you mean that I have n't a will of my own, you 're all wrong,” said he, in some irritation. “Put me straight at my fence, and see if I won't take it. Just say, 'A. B., there's the winning-post,' and mark whether I won't get my speed up.” What a strange glance was that which answered this speech! It implied no assent; as little did it mean the reverse. It was rather the look of one who, out of a maze of tangled fancies, suddenly felt recalled to life and its real interests. To poor Beecher's apprehension it simply seemed a sort of half-compassionate pity, and it made his cheek tingle with wounded pride. “I know,” muttered he to himself, “that she thinks me a confounded fool; but I ain't. Many a fellow in the ring made that mistake, and burned his fingers for it after.” “Well,” said she, after a moment or so of thought, “I am ready; at least, I shall be ready very soon. I 'll tell Annette to pack up and prepare for the road.” “I wish I could get you to have some better opinion of me, Miss Lizzy,” said he, seriously. “I'd give more than I 'd like to say, that you 'd--you 'd--” “That I'd what?” asked she, calmly. “That you 'd not set me down as a regular flat,” said he, with energy. “I 'm not very certain that I know what that means; but I will tell you that I think you very good tempered, very gentle-natured, and very tolerant of fifty-and-one caprices which must be all the more wearisome because unintelligible. And then, you are a very fine gentleman, and--the Honor-Able Annesley Beecher.” And holding out her dress in minuet fashion, she courtesied deeply, and left the room.