"just hear me attentively.
From what I have gathered from your account of England and its habits, I
am certainly now doing that which, to say the least, is most unusual and
unwarrantable. Now, either there is a reason so grave for this that it
makes a choice of evils imperative,--and, therefore, I ought to have my
choice,--or there is another even worse interpretation--at least, a more
painful one--to come."

"Which is?" cried he.

"That I am not of that station to which such propriety attaches of
necessity."

She uttered these words with a cold sternness and determination that
actually made Beecher tremble. "It was Davis's daughter spoke there,"
thought he. "They are the words of one who declares that, no matter what
be the odds against her, she is ready to meet the whole world in arms.
What a girl it is!" muttered he, with a sense of mingled fear and
admiration.

"Well, Mr. Beecher," said she, at length, "I _do_ think you owe me a
little frankness; short as our acquaintance has been, I, at least, have
talked in all the freedom of old friendship. Pray show me that I have
not been indiscreet."

"Hang me, if I know what to say or do!" cried Beecher, in dire
perplexity. "If I were to tell you why your father hurried away from
Brussels, _he_ 'd bring me to book very soon, I promise you."

"I do not ask that," interrupted she, eagerly. "It is upon the other
point my interest is most engaged." He looked blankly at her, for he
really did not catch to what she alluded. "I want you to tell me, in
one word, who are the Davises? Who are we? If we are not recognizable by
that high world you have told me of, who, then, are our equals? Remember
that by an honest answer to my question you give guidance and direction
to my future life. Do not shrink from fear of giving me pain,--there is
no such pain as uncertainty; so be frank."

Beecher covered his face with his hands to think over his reply. He
did not dare to look at her, so fearful was he of her reading his very
embarrassment.

"I will spare you, sir," said she, smiling half superciliously; "but if
you bad known me a little longer or a little better, you had seen how
needless all this excessive caution on your part I have more of what you
call 'pluck' than you give me credit for."

"No, by Jove! that you have n't," cried Beecher; "you have more real
courage than all the men I ever knew."

"Show me, then, that you are not deficient in the quality, and give me a
plain