"This gentleman's name," answered Betteredge (with a strong emphasis on
GENTLEMAN), "is Mr. Franklin Blake."
The girl turned her back on me, and suddenly left the room. Good Mrs.
Yolland--as I believe--made some apologies for her daughter's odd
behaviour, and Betteredge (probably) translated them into polite
English. I speak of this in complete uncertainty. My attention was
absorbed in following the sound of the girl's crutch. Thump-thump,
up the wooden stairs; thump-thump across the room above our heads;
thump-thump down the stairs again--and there stood the apparition at the
open door, with a letter in its hand, beckoning me out!
I left more apologies in course of delivery behind me, and followed
this strange creature--limping on before me, faster and faster--down
the slope of the beach. She led me behind some boats, out of sight and
hearing of the few people in the fishing-village, and then stopped, and
faced me for the first time.
"Stand there," she said, "I want to look at you."
There was no mistaking the expression on her face. I inspired her with
the strongest emotions of abhorrence and disgust. Let me not be vain
enough to say that no woman had ever looked at me in this manner before.
I will only venture on the more modest assertion that no woman had ever
let me perceive it yet. There is a limit to the length of the inspection
which a man can endure, under certain circumstances. I attempted to
direct Limping Lucy's attention to some less revolting object than my
face.
"I think you have got a letter to give me," I began. "Is it the letter
there, in your hand?"
"Say that again," was the only answer I received.
I repeated the words, like a good child learning its lesson.
"No," said the girl, speaking to herself, but keeping her eyes still
mercilessly fixed on me. "I can't find out what she saw in his face. I
can't guess what she heard in his voice." She suddenly looked away from
me, and rested her head wearily on the top of her crutch. "Oh, my poor
dear!" she said, in the first soft tones which had fallen from her, in
my hearing. "Oh, my lost darling! what could you see in this man?" She
lifted her head again fiercely, and looked at me once more. "Can you eat
and drink?" she asked.
I did my best to preserve my gravity, and answered, "Yes."
"Can you sleep?"
"Yes."
"When you see a poor girl in service, do you feel no remorse?"
"Certainly not. Why should I?"
She abruptly thrust the letter (as the phrase is) into my face.
"Take it!" she exclaimed furiously. "I never set eyes on you before. God
Almighty forbid I should ever set eyes on you again."