-What sort of a thing is a symptim, Eliza?"

"A symptim, cook," explained Eliza, "is somethink wrong with the inside.
Her at my last place in Cadogan Square had them uncommon bad. She was
what they call aesthetical, pore young thing. Them infallible ones are
always the worst."

"It don't seem to make sense though, Eliza," objected cook doubtfully.
"Hear how it goes on: 'Infallible symptoms. If you have truly inspired
him with a genuine and lasting passion' (don't he write beautiful?)
'passion, he will continually haunt those places in which you are most
likely to be found' (I couldn't tell you the times master's bin down in
my kitching this last week); 'he will appear awkward and constrained in
your presence' (anything more awkward than master _I_ never set eyes on.
He's knocked down one of the best porcelain vegetables this very
afternoon!); 'he will beg for any little favours, some trifle, it may
be, made by your own hand' (master's always a-asking if I've got any of
those doughnuts to give away); 'and, if granted, he will treasure them
in secret with pride and rapture' (I don't think master kep' any of them
doughnuts though, Eliza. I saw him swaller five; but you couldn't
treasure a doughnut, not to mention---- I'll make him a pincushion when
I've time, and see what he does with it). 'If you detect all these
indications of liking in the person you suspect of paying his addresses
to you, you may safely reckon upon bringing him to your feet in a very
short space of time. (2) Yes, fuller's earth will make them exquisitely
white.'"

"There, Eliza!" said cook, with some pride, when she had finished; "if
it had been meant for me it couldn't have been clearer. Ain't it written
nice? And on'y to think of my bringing master to my feet! It seems
almost too much for a cook to expect!"

"I wouldn't say so, cook; I wouldn't. Have some proper pride. Don't let
him think he's only to ask and have! Why, in the _London Journal_ last
week there was a dook as married a governess; and I should 'ope as a
cook ranked above a governess. Nor yet master ain't a dook; he's only in
the City! But are you sure he's not only a-trifling with your
affections, cook? He's bin very affable and pleasant with all of us
lately."

"It ain't for me to speak too positive, Eliza," said cook almost
bashfully, "nor to lay bare the feelings of a bosom, beyond what's right
and proper. You're young yet, Eliza, and don't understand these
things--leastways, it