doing here, Walter?" she said, drawing back; "how did you
get in? I thought I had bolted the door.--God in Heaven!" she shrieked.
"Peter Lars!--how is this!--What brings you here?"

It was so dark that she could not have recognised him; except for a
peculiar trick which he had, and she hated; a hoarse way of breathing
audibly.

And now she could distinguish the outline of his figure, and
involuntarily retreated towards the door; but with one bound, he had
intercepted it--

"Don't be frightened, Mamsell Helene," he said, with an ugly nervous
laugh; "I mean no harm. It is not, to be sure, that darling poppet, our
young man, who rules the house. It is only the vermin, Peter Lars, that
creeping, crawling worm. But a worm won't hurt you, if you don't crush
it, and unless you really mean to set that pretty foot of yours upon my
ugly head, and--"

"What do you mean by taking such a liberty?" she interrupted him, with
a show of self-possession: "Who ever gave you leave to come here, into
my room to make a scene? I should have imagined you to be sufficiently
aware of my opinion of you."

"Exactly so," he sneered. "It is precisely because I _am_ aware of it,
my very dear Mamsell, that I desire to know the reason of it, and what
I ever did to vex you. And as you never yet have done me so much honor
as to speak to me when we meet elsewhere, I took the liberty of waiting
for an interview here. If you should vouchsafe to tell me that I am
drunk, allow me to tell _you_ that you are wrong. I give you my word I
have not drunk a drop more than I found necessary to untie my tongue.
Pluck, you know, my dear young lady, is a thing a man never can have
too much of; and now I have enough to ask you what you are pleased to
object to in my humble person. Eh! we are so cosy here, quite by
ourselves--couldn't you be a trifle kinder? Or have you really no
kindness left for Peter Lars? Have you been so lavish to your own sweet
poppet, and to that precious quilldriver, your new betrothed? Have you
nothing to say to a fine young fellow like myself, an aspiring artist,
who is, without bravado, worth ten of such?"

"Be silent, sir, and leave the room this instant!" commanded Helen.
"Not another word! and you may thank the wine you have drunk, if this
insolence--"

"Oho! fair lady, softly! you will be ready to come down a peg or two in
a moment; after all, we are two to one, myself and my wine; and when my
pluck is up--not to speak of my love,