“Don’t you know what felicity means, you young savage?”

“No, sir.”

“It means bliss.”

Verty laughed.

“What is that?” he said.

Mr. Roundjacket flourished his ruler, indignantly.

“Astonishing how dull you are occasionally for such a bright fellow,” he said; “but, after the fashion of all ignoramuses, and as you don’t know what that is, I declare you to be one after the old fashion.  You need illustration.  Now, listen.”

Verty sat down tuning his violin, and looking at Mr. Roundjacket, with a smile.

“Felicity and bliss are things which spring from poetry and women; convertible terms, you savage, but often dissevered.  Suppose, now, you wrote a great poem, and read it to the lady of your affections, and she said it was better than the Iliad of Homer,—­how would you feel, sir?”

“I don’t know,” Verty said.

“You would feel happiness, sir.”

“I don’t think I would understand her.  Who was Iliad, and what was Homer?”

Mr. Roundjacket flourished his ruler, despairingly.

“You’ll never write a poem, and you’ll never be in love!” he said, with solemn emphasis.

“Oh, you are wrong!” said Verty, laying his violin on the desk, and caressing Longears.  “I think I’m in love now, Mr. Roundjacket!”

“What?”

“I’m in love.”

“With whom?”

“Redbud,” said Verty.

Roundjacket looked at the young man.

“Redbud Summers?” he said.

Verty nodded.

Roundjacket’s face was suddenly illuminated with a smile; and he looked more intently still at Verty.

“Tell me all about it,” he said, with the interest of a lover himself; “have you had any moonlight, any flowers, music, and that sort of things?”

“Oh, yes! we had the flowers!” said Verty.

“Where?”

“At old Scowley’s.”

“Who’s he?” asked Mr. Roundjacket, staring.

“What!” cried Verty, “don’t you know old Scowley?”

“No.”

“She’s Redbud’s school-master—­I mean school-mistress, of course; and
Mr. Jinks goes to see Miss Sallianna.”

Roundjacket muttered:  “Really, a very extraordinary young man.”

Then he added, aloud—­

“Why do you think you are in love with Redbud?”

“Because you told me all about it; and I think from what—­”

Just as Verty was going on to explain, the door of Mr. Rushton’s room opened again, and Miss Lavinia came forth.

She nodded to Verty, and asked him how he was.

“I’m very well,” said the young man, “and I hope you are too, Miss
Lavinia.  I saw your carriage at the door, and knew you were in here. 
Oh! how tight your hair is curled!” he added, laughing.

Miss Lavinia drew herself up.

“I reckon you are going to see Redbud,” said Verty.

Miss Lavinia looked intently at him.