American fiction -- 19th century; London (England) -- Fiction
The elaborate and deferential courtesy with which the old gentleman
spoke made a curt answer impossible. Mosscrop looked from father to
daughter with a puzzled smile.
“You are Americans, I take it?”
“We are from Paris, sir.” He made haste to add, “From Paris, Kentucky.
I obtrude the explanation, because I find that among foreigners there is
frequently a tendency to confuse our city with the celebrated metropolis
on the Continent, which bears the same name, but is a place of an
entirely different character. To a scholar like yourself, however, I
might have realised that such an error would be impossible. I ask your
pardon, sir.”
“Oh, don’t mention it,” replied Mosscrop, lightly. He could not recall
ever having heard of such a place before, and for a moment was tempted
to say so. But there was an effect of sweet simplicity in the old man’s
face and manner which restrained his tongue. “Well,” he said instead,
“what is it that you wish? I am not sure that I have entirely caught
your idea. Do you want some one to go round with you and show you
things?”
“Not in the ordinary meaning which would attach to that description,”
the other answered. “We do not require to have things shown to us in the
literal sense of the word, but I had thought that if we were attended
in our inspection of the various objects of interest for which Europe
is justly famous, by some person of erudition and also of an exceptional
style of delivery, the experience would be of much greater practical
value to my daughter. Of course, sir, I am aware that professional
assistance of this high character is not to be obtained without
commensurate compensation, but that is a consideration which presents no
obstacles to my mind.”
David felt Vestalia’s hand trembling upon his arm.
“I can see,” he said, more amiably, “that such a relation might be
extremely welcome to many deserving and very capable men. But at the
moment I regret to say I can think of none to recommend to you. Besides,
you don’t know me from Adam; so how could I give a character to any one
else?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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