“I know it isn’t true,” says the hypocrite; “but you might only this once.  I believe all you say about this girl; I can see it for myself; and when shall I ever have such a chance again?”

“But dear me!” says Tita, putting down the white palette for a moment, “how can I believe you are in earnest?  You have only known her three days.”

“And that is quite enough,” says Charlie, boldly, “to let you find out all you want to know about a girl if she is of the right sort.  If she isn’t you won’t find out in three years.  Now look at Franziska; look at the fine, intelligent face and the honest eyes; you can have no doubt about her; and then I have all the guarantee of your long acquaintance with her.”

“Oh,” says Tita, “that is all very well.  Franziska is an excellent girl, as I have told you often—­frank, kind, well educated, and unselfish.  But you cannot have fallen in love with her in three days?”

“Why not?” says this blunt-spoken young man.

“Because it is ridiculous.  If I meddle in the affair I should probably find you had given up the fancy in other three days; or if you did marry her and took her to England you would get to hate me because I alone should know that you had married the niece of an innkeeper.”

“Well, I like that!” says he, with a flush in his face.  “Do you think I should care two straws whether my friends knew I had married the niece of an innkeeper?  I should show them Franziska.  Wouldn’t that be enough?  An innkeeper’s niece!  I wish the world had more of ’em, if they’re like Franziska.”

“And besides,” says Tita, “have you any notion as to how Franziska herself would probably take this mad proposal?”

“No,” says the young man, humbly.  “I wanted you to try and find out what she thought about me; and if, in time something were said about this proposal, you might put in a word or two, you know, just to—­to give her an idea, you know, that you don’t think it quite so mad, don’t you know?”

“Give me your hand, Charlie,” says Tita, with a sudden burst of kindness.  “I’ll do what I can for you; for I know she’s a good girl, and she will make a good wife to the man who marries her.”

You will observe that this promise was given by a lady who never, in any circumstances whatsoever, seeks to make up matches, who never speculates on possible combinations when she invites young people to her house in Surrey, and who is profoundly indignant, indeed, when such a charge is preferred against her.  Had she not, on that former Christmas morning, repudiated with scorn the suggestion that Charlie might marry before another year had passed?  Had she not, in her wild confidence, staked on a wager that assumption of authority in her household and out of it without which life would be a burden to her?  Yet no sooner was the name of Franziska mentioned, and no sooner had she been reminded that Charlie was going with us to Huferschingen, than the nimble little brain set