asking questions which she never gave him a chance to answer. And while he talked to his mother, attempting to brazen it out, he looked at Miss Randolph, but she kept her head turned away.
As for poor Mr. Payne, I was sorry for him. He had meant so well, and worked so hard for everybody's good, and now it had come to nothing. He did his best to make himself right with his American friend, saying, "Mr. Randolph, at all events, this man has insulted your daughter, travelling around Europe with her under false pretences. What do you intend to do about it?"
But the big man answered, in a slow, drawling way, as if he were just ready to laugh, "Well, I guess I won't do much. Mr. Winston and I met here accidentally, and talked to each other awhile before either of us knew who the other was; and when we did know, why, he was able to give me a pretty satisfactory explanation. I guess there's nothing much that's wrong; and I hope Mr. Winston will introduce me to his mother."
Aren't Americans queer? I will say, though, that the girl didn't seem inclined to take things so calmly. Her cheeks were scarlet, and her eyes looked about twice too big for her face with anger or something like it.
Pa and I were rather out of the "durbah," for like the bat in the fable, we were neither bird nor beast, and had to stand aside while the fight between the two kinds of creatures went on. By-and-by Mr. Payne joined us, poor fellow, and I did what I could to console him, telling him that was always the way in this
