indeed I am, how
as any young gentleman as ever breathed would sit in a pool of water
to dine along with Miss Angela, let alone an old nurse. I ain't such a
fool as I may look; no need for you to go a-blushing of, Miss Angela.
And now, sir, if you please, we will sit down, for fear lest the gravy
should begin to grease;" and, utterly exhausted by the exuberance of
her own verbosity, she plunged into her chair--an example which
Arthur, bowing his acknowledgements of her opening address, was not
slow to follow.

One of his first acts was, at Pigott's invitation, to help himself to
a glass of beer, of which, to speak truth, he drank a good deal.

Angela watched the proceeding with interest.

"What," she asked presently, "is a teetotaller?"

The recollection of his statement of the previous day flashed into his
mind. He was, however, equal to the occasion.

"A teetotaller," he replied, with gravity, "is a person who only
drinks beer," and Angela, the apparent discrepancy explained, retired
satisfied.

That was a very pleasant dinner. What a thing it is to be young and in
love! How it gilds the dull gingerbread of life; what new capacities
of enjoyment it opens up to us, and, for the matter of that, of pain
also; and oh! what stupendous fools it makes of us in everybody else's
eyes except our own, and, if we are lucky, those of our adored!

The afternoon and evening passed much as the morning had done. Angela
took Arthur round the place, and showed him all the spots connected
with her strange and lonely childhood, of which she told him many a
curious story. In fact, before the day was over, he knew all the
history of her innocent life, and was struck with amazement at the
variety and depth of her scholastic acquirements and the extraordinary
power of her mind, which, combined with her simplicity and total
ignorance of the ways of the world, produced an affect as charming as
it was unusual. Needless to say that every hour he knew her he fell
more deeply in love with her.

At length, about eight o'clock, just as it was beginning to get dark,
she suggested that he should go and sit a while with her father.

"And what are you going to do?" asked Arthur.

"Oh! I am going to read a little, and then go to bed; I always go to
bed about nine;" and she held out her hand to say good-night. He took
it and said,

"Good-night, then; I wish it were to-morrow."

"Why?"

"Because then I should be saying, 'Good-morning, Ange