The summer passed away, and the winter came; again there was talk
about Mr. George. He was highly respected, and was received in the first
circles. The General had met him at a court ball.
And now there was a ball to be given in the General’s house for Emily,
and could Mr. George be invited to it?
“He whom the King invites can be invited by the General also,” said the
General, and drew himself up till he stood quite an inch higher than before.
Mr. George was invited, and he came; princes and counts came, and they
danced, one better than the other. But Emily could only dance one dance-the
first; for she made a false step-nothing of consequence; but her foot hurt
her, so that she had to be careful, and leave off dancing, and look at the
others. So she sat and looked on, and the architect stood by her side.
“I suppose you are giving her the whole history of St. Peter’s,” said the
General, as he passed by; and smiled, like the personification of patronage.
With the same patronizing smile he received Mr. George a few days
afterwards. The young man came, no doubt, to return thanks for the
invitation to the ball. What else could it be? But indeed there was something
else, something very astonishing and startling. He spoke words of sheer
lunacy, so that the General could hardly believe his own ears. It was “the
height of rhodomontade,” an offer, quite an inconceivable offer-Mr. George
came to ask the hand of Emily in marriage!
“Man!” cried the General, and his brain seemed to be boiling. “I don’t
understand you at all. What is it you say? What is it you want? I don’t know
you. Sir! Man! What possesses you to break into my house? And am I to
stand here and listen to you?” He stepped backwards into his bed-room,
locked the door behind him, and left Mr. George standing alone. George
stood still for a few minutes, and then turned round and left the room. Emily
was standing in the corridor.
“My father has answered?” she said, and her voice trembled.
George pressed her hand.
