no mortal ever loved before. See, I die
at your feet!' And there, before my very eyes, he whipped out a pistol,
pulled the trigger, tumbled over and seemed fully disposed to carry out
the programme to the end. He had shot himself; there was no doubt about
that; but he had shot himself in such an intelligent manner, that,
though there was blood enough to frighten a sensitive young person out
of her wits, yet of danger there was none at all. Talk to me about
comedians! When I discovered the farce which had been enacted with the
sole object of stirring my sympathies into affection, I was
flabbergasted at the wiles of man.

"It was after that episode that I returned to Beacon Street. It was
there that what you are pleased to call the scandal began. Fanny, whose
desire to marry me off was simply epic, one day caught an Englishman;
young, so she said, and good-looking. And that Englishman, she made up
her mind, I should ensnare. Fanny, as you know, was possessed with an
ungratified desire to pay annual visits to swell country houses on the
other side. Hence, I suppose, her efforts. Having caught the Englishman,
the next step was to serve him up in becoming form. To that end she gave
a tentative dinner. I got to it late; in fact, I was the last to arrive.
Fanny, I could see, was in a state of feverish excitement. She presented
to me one or two men, whose names I did not catch, and a moment later
one of them gave me his arm. When we were seated at table, and while he
was sticking a chrysanthemum in his button-hole, I glanced at the card
on his plate. It bore for legend Lord Alfred Harrow. It was then I took
my first look at him. My dear, he was the ugliest man I have ever seen;
he was so ugly that he was positively attractive. His mouth was large
enough to sing a duet, but his teeth were whiter than mine."

As she spoke she curled her lips.

"There was no hair on his face, and his features were those of a
middle-aged wizard. But about him was the atmosphere of health, of
strength, too, and his hands, though bronzed and sinewy, were perfect. I
knew he was a thoroughbred at once. 'And how do you like the States?' I
asked. He was squeezing some lemon on an oyster, and I noticed that when
some white wine was offered him he turned the glass upside down. 'Very
much,' he answered; 'and you?' There was more of that sort of thing, and
finally I asked him if, like other Englishmen, he thought that Boston
suggested one of his provincia