“And now, ladies, might I offer you a little something on my own. What do you say to a dozen oysters each, and a bottle of champagne? I believe they’re things ladies are fond of.”
He smiled—such a smile. It sounded tempting. I had never tasted oysters and champagne; though, of course, I had read of them in books, heaps of times. And it is my opinion that Emily would have said yes, if I had given her a chance. But not me. I stood up directly.
“Thank you; but I never touch oysters and champagne—at this time of night.”
“Might I—might I be allowed to offer a little something else. A Welsh rarebit, shall we say?”
Now, as it happens, a Welsh rarebit is a thing that I am fond of, especially when eaten with a glass of stout. I was still hungry, and my mouth watered at the prospect of some real nice, hot toasted cheese. It needed some resolution to decline. But I did. Hungry as I was, I felt as if I had had more than enough of him already.
“I am obliged to you, but I want nothing else. I have had all that I require.”
It was not true; but it seemed to me that it was a case in which truth would not exactly meet the situation. The stranger came close to me, actually whispering in my ear.
“May I hope, Miss Blyth, that you’ll remember me when—when you want a friend?”
I was as stand-offish as I could be.
“I don’t see how I can remember you when I don’t even know your name.”
He spoke to me across the back of his hand.
“My name is Rudd—Isaac Rudd; known to my friends, of whom, the Lord be praised, I’ve many, as Covey. It’s a—a term of endearment, so to speak, Miss Blyth.”
That anyone could apply a term of endearment to
