“ Mr. Wrayburn, I cannot tell you now. I cannot tell you tonight, if I ever can tell you. Pray leave me.”
“But, Lizzie, I came expressly to join you. I came to walk home with you, having dined at a coffeehouse in this neighbourhood and knowing your hour. And I have been lingering about,” added Eugene, “like a bailiff; or,” with a look at Riah, “an old clothesman.”
The Jew lifted up his eyes, and took in Eugene once more, at another glance.
“ Mr. Wrayburn, pray, pray, leave me with this protector. And one thing more. Pray, pray be careful of yourself.”
“Mysteries of Udolpho!” said Eugene, with a look of wonder. “May I be excused for asking, in the elderly gentleman’s presence, who is this kind protector?”
“A trustworthy friend,” said Lizzie.
“I will relieve him of his trust,” returned Eugene. “But you must tell me, Lizzie, what is the matter?”
“Her brother is the matter,” said the old man, lifting up his eyes again.
“Our brother the matter?” returned Eugene, with airy contempt. “Our brother is not worth a thought, far less a tear. What has our brother done?”
The old man lifted up his eyes again, with one grave look at Wrayburn, and one grave glance at Lizzie, as she stood looking down. Both were so full of meaning that even Eugene was checked in his light career, and subsided into a thoughtful “Humph!”