“As I am a gentleman,” said Everell, “I will obey your least command—or your greatest. But as I am a gentleman, I would not have you consider me as a stranger. I grant we have never met before; but such true and gentle eyes as yours make friends of all who are privileged to see them. As for my own deserts, I can plead only the respect and tenderness your looks compel. Believe me, nothing in the suddenness of this meeting can make me act lightly toward you, or think lightly of you, if you will do me the honour to count me among your friends. My name is—” A loud “hem” from Roughwood, who had been looking on with astonishment at his friend’s earnest and precipitate demonstration of regard, made Everell stop short. Georgiana, who had listened and gazed with a bewilderment that had something exceedingly novel and pleasant in it, was at a loss how to fill the pause with speech or act. She stood feeling quite incapable and delighted; but her face betrayed nothing unusual except wonder, which very well became it. Everell, however, did not leave her long suspended. With a smile at his own predicament, he resumed: “Egad, I have a choice of names to tell, madam. For certain reasons, I don’t parade my true name at present.—And yet why not in this case? I wouldn’t deal in falsehood even so slight, with one whose looks declare—” But Georgiana had suddenly recalled her wits to their duty, and they had promptly informed her how the world would expect a young lady to comport herself in such a situation. She quietly interrupted: “Nay, sir, I haven’t asked your name, and there is no need you should tell it, as we are not likely to meet again. I thank you for your willingness to befriend me, and your offer of service.—There is one thing you may do for me, if you will.” The dejected look that had come over Everell’s face flashed into eagerness, and he started forward. “Name it, madam!” Georgiana smiled, but said as sweetly as possible, to compensate in some measure for the disappointment she foresaw too late, “If you will pull the bell-rope yonder, I shall be very grateful—_most_ grateful.” Everell’s looks groaned for him, and he was too far taken down to move. Roughwood laughed gently, and after a moment, as he was nearer the bell-rope, went toward it. This restored Everell to animation. “Nay, Will, ’tis _my_ affair!” he cried, and, stepping between his friend and the rope, gave it so earnest a pull, with such a flourish, that anybody must have marvelled to see how serious and magnificent a performance the pulling of a bell-rope could be made. Georgiana thanked him, and stood smiling, with nothing more to say. Everell found himself afflicted with a similar lack, or confusion, of ideas, as well as from inability to take his eyes off the young lady. She sought relief from his gaze by walking to the window. Presently the maid appeared, in response to the bell.