My heart beat so fast that I could scarcely breathe.

The booth was almost dark; the curtain was down; and a gentleman with striped legs was lighting the footlamps.

On the front pit bench next the orchestra, discussing a plate of bread and meat and the contents of a brown jug, sat a stout man in shirt-sleeves and a woman in a cotton gown.

The woman rose as I made my appearance, and asked, civilly enough, whom I pleased to want.
I stammered the name of Miss Angelina Lascelles.
"Miss Lascelles!" she repeated.

"I am Miss Lascelles," Then, looking at me more narrowly, "I suppose," she added, "you are the little boy that brought the letter ?" The little boy that brought the letter! Gracious heavens! And this middle-aged woman in a cotton gown--was she the Angelina of my dreams! The booth went round with me, and the lights danced before my eyes.
"If you have come for an answer," she continued, "you may just say to your Mr.Pyramid that I am a respectable married woman, and he ought to be ashamed of himself--and, as for his letter, I never read such a heap of nonsense in my life! There, you can go out by the way you came in, and if you take my advice, you won't come back again!" How I looked, what I said, how I made my exit, whether the doorkeeper spoke to me as I passed, I have no idea to this day.