Flora, that was the
daughter's name, did not appear to notice his remark. One evening,
not long after this, as the family of Mr. Johnson were about leaving
the tea-table, where they had remained later than usual, a domestic
announced that there was a gentleman in the parlor.
"Who is it?" inquired Flora.
"Mr. Mortimer," was answered.
An expression of dislike came into the face of Flora, as she said--
"He didn't ask for me?"
"Yes," was the servant's reply.
"Tell him that I'm engaged, Nancy."
"No, no!" said Mr. Johnson, quickly. "This would not be right. _Are_
you engaged?"
"That means, father, that I don't wish to see him; and he will so
understand me."
"Don't wish to see him? Why not?"
"Because I don't like him."
"Don't like him?" Mr. Johnson's manner was slightly impatient.
"Perhaps you don't know him."
The way in which her father spoke, rather embarrassed Flora. She
cast down her eye and stood for a few moments.
"Tell Mr. Mortimer that I will see him in a little while," she then
said, and, as the domestic retired to give the answer, she ascended
to her chamber to make some slight additions to her toilet.
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