“Your pardon, sirs,” said the intruder. “I was—I wanted to see Prudence.” Her confusion, to which was due the strangeness of this remark, became all the greater on her perceiving that strangeness, and she blushed deeply. “Prudence?” echoed Everell, politely. “If you mean a lady of that name, we have not seen her here.” “She is my waiting-woman,” explained Georgiana. “I didn’t expect to find her in this room. She is in the kitchen, no doubt, so I thought of coming to this room and ringing the bell. I thought there might be nobody here, but I see I intrude.” “Not in the least,” said Everell, earnestly. “You arrive just in time to provide us with a toast. To those sweet eyes!” He was about to drink, when the new wave of crimson that swept over her face at this tenderly spoken praise of her visual organs engendered a sudden abashment in Everell. “I have been too bold, perhaps,” he said, in a kind of vague alarm. “If so, I entreat your pardon, madam.” She looked at him with undisguised interest, and said, slowly, “I know not. If you are bold, there seems a respect in your boldness,—a gentleness and a consideration—” She stopped short, as having gone too far. A slight quiver of the lip, and a certain note of resentment in her last words, combined with the words themselves, conveyed a message to his quick wit. “Madam, some one has offended you,” he said, instantly setting down his wine, and walking toward her and the door. “Where is the person?” She raised her hand to check him, frightened at having created the possibility of a scene. “Nay, ’tis nothing! Stay, I beg you, sir!” “Who could be ungentle to one who is all gentleness?” cried Everell. “It must have occurred but now—they must be near—in this inn. In what room? Pray tell me.” “’Twas nothing, sir, I assure you. I spoke in a moment of foolish vexation. I was merely annoyed at their talk. I had no right to be—no offence was meant.” “People should be careful that offence is not given, as well as not meant. They should be chastised for their carelessness, if for nothing more.” “Nay, it is not to be heard of. Two of them are of my own sex, and another is my relation. I had no real cause to be angry. The fault is all mine, indeed. I have been much in the wrong to leave them so rudely,—and more in the wrong to speak of the matter to a stranger. Pray forget all I have said, sir,—pray do, as you are a gentleman.” He had been on the point of answering at the end of each sentence, but her rapidity of speech prevented. She stopped now, with a look that continued her appeal and besought an assurance.