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Updated: August 7, 2024
She could not be mistaken in the remark which the father addressed to Burnamy, though it led to nothing. The dinner was uncommonly good, as the first dinner out is apt to be; and it went gayly on from soup to fruit, which was of the American abundance and variety, and as yet not of the veteran freshness imparted by the ice-closet.
She sat reclined in the corner of the seat, with her head drooping. After an interval which was long to Burnamy she began to pull at a ring on the third finger of her left hand, absently, as if she did not know what she was doing; but when she had got it off she held it towards Burnamy and said quietly, "I think you had better have this again," and then she rose and moved slowly and weakly away.
March laughed for pleasure in her guess, and she pursued, "I suppose you didn't waste time looking if anybody had brought the last copy of 'Every Other Week'?" "Yes, I did; and I found the one you had left in your steamer chair for advertising purposes, probably." "Mr. Burnamy has another," she said. "I saw it sticking out of his pocket this morning." "Oh, yes.
He's met the Triscoes, and he thought it would be pleasant to you if they went, too." "Oh, certainly." "He thought," Burnamy went on, with the air of feeling his way, "that we might all go to the opera, and then then go for a little supper afterwards at Schwarzkopf's."
Not to beat about the bush, on the next point, let me ask at once what your means of supporting her are. How much did you earn on that newspaper in Chicago?" "Fifteen hundred dollars," Burnamy answered, promptly enough. "Did you earn anything more, say within the last year?" "I got three hundred dollars advance copyright for a book I sold to a publisher."
"Why, I suppose so," he answered, with an uneasy laugh. "His people were German emigrants who settled in Southern Indiana. That makes him as much American as any of us, doesn't it?" Burnamy spoke with his mind on his French-Canadian grandfather, who had come down through Detroit, when their name was Bonami; but Mrs. March answered from her eight generations of New England ancestry.
It seemed a long time before Burnamy said with a long sigh, as of final recollection, "Oh, yes," and then he said nothing; and they did not sit down, but stood looking at each other. "Was it something you got for me, and forgot to give me?" she asked in a voice which would not have misled a woman, but which did its work with the young man. He laughed and said, "Well, hardly!
"Why, I suppose so," he answered, with an uneasy laugh. "His people were German emigrants who settled in Southern Indiana. That makes him as much American as any of us, doesn't it?" Burnamy spoke with his mind on his French-Canadian grandfather, who had come down through Detroit, when their name was Bonami; but Mrs. March answered from her eight generations of New England ancestry.
I don't know but I'd rather you'd satisfy yourself " "I will not see Mrs. March. Do you think I would go back of you in that way? I am satisfied now." Instead of Burnamy, Mrs. Adding and her son now breakfasted with the Marches at the Posthof, and the boy was with March throughout the day a good deal.
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?"
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