I
did not raise my hat, or perhaps I did unconsciously.
The red dress glided up Carl Johann, and disappeared.
"Who was it was with her?" asked "Missy."
"The Duke, didn't you see? The so-called 'Duke.' Did you know the lady?"
"Yes, in a sort of way. Didn't you know her?"
"No," I replied.
"It appears to me you saluted profoundly enough."
"Did I?"
"Ha, ha! perhaps you didn't," said "Missy." "Well, that is odd. Why, it
was only at you she looked, too, the whole time."
"When did you get to know her?" I asked. He did not really know her. It
dated from an evening in autumn. It was late; they were three jovial souls
together, they came out late from the Grand, and met this being going
along alone past Cammermeyer's, and they addressed her. At first she
answered rebuffingly; but one of the jovial spirits, a man who neither
feared fire nor water, asked her right to her face if he might not have
the civilized enjoyment of accompanying her home? He would, by the Lord,
not hurt a hair on her head, as the saying goes--only go with her to her
door, reassure himself that she reached home in safety, otherwise he could
not rest all night. He talked incessantly as they went along, hit upon one
thing or another, dubbed himself Waldemar Atterdag, and represented
himself as a photographer. At last she was obliged to laugh at this merry
soul who refused to be rebuffed by her coldness, and it finally ended by
his going with her.
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