“That is so. I’m too fond of Amelius to let this trouble rest where ‘tis now. I’ve been away from him, here in Paris, for some little time--and you may tell me (and quite right, too) I can’t answer for what may have been going on in my absence. No! now we are about it, we’ll have it out. I mean to see Amelius and see Mrs. Payson, tomorrow morning. Just tell your uncle to hold his hand, before he breaks off your marriage, and wait for a telegram from me. Well? and this is your address, is it? I know the hotel. A nice look-out on the Twillery Gardens--but a bad cellar of wine, as I hear. I’m at the Grand Hotel myself, if there’s anything else that troubles you before evening. Now I look at you again, I reckon there’s something more to be said, if you’ll only let it find its way to your tongue. No; it ain’t thanks. We’ll take the gratitude for granted, and get to what’s behind it. There’s your carriage--and the good lady looks tired of waiting. Well, now?” “It’s only one thing,” Regina acknowledged, with her eyes on the ground again. “Perhaps, when you go to London, you may see the--” “The girl?” “Yes.” “It’s not likely. Say I do see her--what then?” Regina’s colour began to show itself again. “If you do see her,” she said, “I beg and entreat you won’t speak of _me_ in her hearing. I should die of the shame of it, if she thought herself asked to give him up out of pity for me. Promise I am not to be brought forward; promise you won’t even mention my having spoken to you about it. On your word of honour!” Rufus gave her his promise, without showing any hesitation, or making any remark. But when she shook hands with him, on returning to the carriage, he held her hand for a moment. “Please to excuse me, Miss, if I ask one question,” he said, in tones too low to be heard by any other person. “Are you really fond of Amelius?” “I am surprised you should doubt it,” she answered; “I am more--much more than fond of him!” Rufus handed her silently into the carriage, “Fond of him, are you?” he thought, as he walked away by himself. “I reckon it’s a sort of fondness that don’t wear well, and won’t stand washing.” CHAPTER 8 Early the next morning, Rufus rang at the cottage gate. “Well, Mr. Frenchman, and how do _you_ git along? And how’s Amelius?” Toff, standing before the gate, answered with the utmost respect, but showed no inclination to let the visitor in. “Amelius has his intervals of laziness,” Rufus proceeded; “I bet he’s in bed!” “My young master was up and dressed an hour ago, sir--he has just gone out.” “That is so, is it? Well, I’ll wait till he comes back.” He pushed by Toff, and walked into the cottage. “Your foreign ceremonies are clean thrown away on me,” he said, as Toff tried to stop him in the hall. “I’m the American savage; and I’m used up with travelling all night. Here’s a little order for you: whisky, bitters, lemon, and ice--I’ll take a cocktail in the library.”