She was florid, perhaps, and her conversation was of commonplaces and echoes, like my own, for I could not talk.

It was Poor Jr.

who made the talking, and in spite of the spell that was on me, I found myself full of admiration and sorrow for that brave fellow.

He was all gaieties and little stories in a way I had never heard before; he kept us in quiet laughter; in a word, he was charming.

The beautiful lady seemed content to listen with the greatest pleasure.