Tom Moore Part 47

"Oh, I understand," he went on. "This is the frosting on the cake of beauty."

Then, carefully powdering himself, he crossed to the mirror over the mantel on the opposite side of the room and inspected the result of his labor.

"Humph," said he. "I look seasick. I'll have none of this for me."

And he industriously rubbed his face with his handkerchief.

"Oh, do hurry up," implored the girl, fearful lest some other of the guests should enter the room before she recovered her belongings.

"I was not made in a hurry," replied Moore. "The more haste the less speed, so I 'll take my time in my investigations."

The next thing he took from the pocket was a little black and white sketch of himself which had been drawn at a supper party the week before by no less distinguished a gentleman than Samuel Rogers, the banker poet.

"My picture!" he exclaimed in surprise. "How did you get this, Bessie?"

"If you must know, Mr. Rogers threw it away and I picked it up," she replied, displaying as much regard for the truth as any of her s.e.x would be likely to under the same circ.u.mstances.

"I 'm honored, Mistress d.y.k.e," observed Moore, bowing to the portiere with formal grace and politeness. "You show much taste in your selection of works of art."

Proceeding with his search, Moore now brought to light the handkerchief, which he promptly confiscated.

"Mistress d.y.k.e," he said, at the same time tucking away the handkerchief in his breast pocket, "I am now convinced that this is your property."

"Then give it to me at once," she directed.

"Not yet," said Moore. "If I remember correctly, I made a statement to you concerning an apology which I thought should be forthcoming to me.

Well, I have n't received it as yet."

"Bully!" remarked Bessie as spitefully as she could, which was not a little.

"Did I hear aright?" asked Moore. "Did I hear some one call me a bully?"

"Please, oh, please, give me--that!" she pleaded, but Moore was not to be turned aside from his march to triumph.

"Did I hear some one say 'Tom, I am truly sorry for my crossness to-night'?" he asked.

"I won't say it," she declared, but her voice lacked determination.

"I really must be going," said Moore, taking a step towards the door.

She gave a squeal of terror.

"I will, I will!" she cried.

"I hope so, Bessie," he replied, pausing.

"Tom, I am truly sorry for the cross things you have said to me to-night."

She mumbled it quickly, hoping he would not distinguish the adaptation she made in the sentence he had dictated; but Moore heard and defeated her.

"That won't do," he said sternly. "Try again."

"Tyrant!" she exclaimed ferociously.

"That is not a pretty name, Bessie."

"It is appropriate," she said, coldly.

"Go on with the apology."

The girl made an effort and proceeded with her unwilling penance in the meekest of tones.

"Tom, I am truly sorry for the cross things I have said to you to-night.

Now give me it."

"Don't be in such a hurry, Bessie. There is more to be said."

"Oh, dear! will you never be satisfied?"

"Not till you are all mine," he answered in his tenderest tones.

"That will be a long time," she said determinedly.

"I can wait, but to continue--Say 'You are an old nuisance, Tom, but I like to have you around.'"

"You are an old nuisance, Tom, but I like to have you around," she repeated, parrot-like; then she added sweetly, "I have something else I wish to tell you."

Deceived by her sentimental tone, Moore stepped near the curtains and like a flash she snapped the skirt off his arm and vanished behind her shelter.

"The deuce!" exclaimed Moore, in chagrin.

The curtains undulated violently as though some vigorous performance were being enacted behind them. The next moment Bessie, fully attired, swept out between them and across the room, her independence and peace of mind restored with the resumption of the purloined garment.

"Bessie," said Moore, persuasively, and she halted on the threshold in haughty response. "Bessie, won't you let me speak to you before you go?"

"I fear it will only be a waste of time, Mr. Moore," she answered.

"Yet I waited when you asked me to from behind the curtains," he said, a glint of laughter in his eyes.

Bessie winced, but the stare she favored him with was both cold and disdainful.

"But, Mr. Moore," she answered, "I had something to say to which you wished to listen."

"You mean," he corrected, "you had to say something, Bessie, that I wished to hear. There never was maid more unwilling to do what she was bid than you."

"Pray hasten your words, sir. I am listening."

"Bessie," he whispered, all the music and poetry to which the love in his heart had given life vibrant in his caressing voice, "Bessie, mavourneen, let's have done with this bickering. The days of youth fly far too fast for us to waste them in contention. You are the breath of my life, darlin'. Say you 'll take me back to my old place in your heart this night and ne'er send me a-journeying again while we live."