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General Triscoe, from his 'lit de justice', passed this point in silence. "Have you any one dependent on you?" "My mother; I take care of my mother," answered Burnamy, proudly. "Since you have broken with Stoller, what are your prospects?" "I have none." "Then you don't expect to support my daughter; you expect to live upon her means." "I expect to do nothing of the kind!" cried Burnamy.
March, who turned her face away; and she excused herself with the pretence that she had promised the dance, and by good fortune, Burnamy, who had been unscrupulously waltzing with a lady he did not know, came up at the moment. She rose and put her hand on his arm, and they both bowed to the officer before they whirled away.
And how do you know that they were keeping up the fight together?" "How do I? Didn't you see yourself what friends they were? Did you tell him what Stoller had, said about Burnamy?" "I had no chance. I don't know that I should have done it, anyway. It wasn't my affair." "Well, then, I think you might.
"I can answer it very well," she boasted, but she could find nothing better to say than, "It's your duty to her to see her and let her know." "Doesn't she know already?" "She has a right to know it from you. I think you are morbid, Mr. Burnamy. You know very well I didn't like your doing that to Mr. Stoller. I didn't say so at the time, because you seemed to feel it enough yourself.
One day after such an entreaty, she said, "The queen is here, this morning." Mrs. March started, in the hope of highhotes. "The queen!" "Yes; the young lady. Mr. Burnamy was saying she was a queen. She is there with her father." She nodded in the direction of a distant corner, and the Marches knew that she meant Miss Triscoe and the general. "She is not seeming so gayly as she was being."
He stared round for a table; they were all taken, and he could not refuse the interest Burnamy made with the waiters to bring them one and crowd it in. He had to ask him to sup with them, and Burnamy sat down and heard the concert through beside Miss Triscoe. "What is so tremendously amusing in a pair of stork-scissors?" March demanded, when his wife and he were alone.
Burnamy said he could not give any notion of the enchantment of Nuremberg; but he besought March, if he was going to the Tyrol for his after-cure, not to fail staying a day or so in the wonderful place. He thought March would enjoy Ansbach too, in its way. "And, not a word not a syllable about Miss Triscoe!" cried Mrs. March. "Shall you take his paper?"
It's civilization that interests civilization." "I hope that fact doesn't leave us out in the cold with the barbarians?" Burnamy put in, with a smile. "Do you think we are civilized?" retorted the other. "We have that superstition in Chicago," said Burnamy. He added, still smiling, "About the New-Yorkers, I mean." "You're more superstitious in Chicago than I supposed.
She hoped to leave Burnamy and Miss Triscoe together before the evening ended; but Miss Triscoe merely stopped with her father, in quitting the saloon, to laugh at some features of the entertainment, as people who take no part in such things do; Burnamy stood up to exchange some unimpassioned words with her, and then they said good-night.
"Have you been asleep?" she asked. "I've just blown out my light. What has kept you?" She did not reply categorically. Standing there in the sheltering dark, she said, "Papa, I wasn't very candid with you, this afternoon. I am engaged to Mr. Burnamy." "Light the candle," said her father. "Or no," he added before she could do so. "Is it quite settled?"
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