"I have no friend to take care of me," she said simply. "I was sad and sorry this evening, all by myself, and I thought I would go to the Gardens and hear the music, just to amuse me. It is not much to pay at the gate; only a shilling.""No friend to take care of you?" I repeated. "Surely there must be one happy man who might have been here with you to-night?""What man do you mean?" she asked.
"The man," I answered thoughtlessly, "whom we call, in England, a Sweetheart."I would have given worlds to have recalled those foolish words the moment they passed my lips. I felt that I had taken a vulgar liberty with her. Her face saddened; her eyes dropped to the ground. I begged her pardon.
"There is no need to beg my pardon," she said. "If you wish to know, sir--yes, I had once a sweetheart, as you call it in England. He has gone away and left me. No more of him, if you please. I am rested now. I will thank you again, and go home."She rose to leave me.
I was determined not to part with her in that way. I begged to be allowed to see her safely back to her own door. She hesitated. Itook a man's unfair advantage of her, by appealing to her fears.