David and Eve went home together.

David was in a triumphant state, but waited for Eve to congratulate him.  Eve was silent.

At last David could refrain no longer.  “Why, you say nothing.”

“No.  Common sense is too good to be wasted; don’t go so fast.”

“No.  There—­I heave to for convoy to close up.  Would it be wasted on me? ha! ha!”

“To-night.  There you go pelting on again.”

“Eve, I can’t help it.  I feel all canvas, with a cargo of angels’ feathers and sunshine for ballast.”

“Moonshine.”

“Sun, moon, and stars, and all that is bright by night or day.  I’ll tell you what to do; you keep your head free, and come on under easy sail; I’ll stand across your bows with every rag set and drawing, so then I shall be always within hail.”

This sober-minded maneuver was actually carried out.  The little corvette sailed steadily down the middle of the lane; the great merchantman went pitching and rolling across her bows; thus they kept together, though their rates of sailing were so different.

Merry Eve never laughed once, but she smiled, and then sighed.

David did not heed her.  All of a moment his heart vented itself in a sea-ditty so loud, and clear, and mellow, that windows opened, and out came nightcapped heads to hear him carol the lusty stave, making night jolly.

Meantime, the weather being balmy, Mr. Fountain had walked slowly with Mr. Talboys in another direction.  Mr. Talboys inquired, “Who were these people?”

Oh, only two humble neighbors,” was the reply.

“I never met them anywhere.  They are received in the neighborhood?”

“Not in society, of course.”

“I don’t understand you.  Have not I just met them here?”

“That is not the way to put it,” said the old gentleman, a little confused.  “You did not meet them; you did me and my niece the honor to dine with us, and the Dodds dropped in to tea—­quite another matter.”

“Oh, is it?”

“Is it not?  I see you have been so long out of England you have forgotten these little distinctions; society would go to the deuce without them.  We ask our friends, and persons of our own class, to dinner, but we ask who we like to tea in this county.  Don’t you like her?  She is the prettiest girl in the village.”

“Pretty and pert.”

“Ha! ha! that is true.  She is saucy enough, and amusing in proportion.”

“It is the man I alluded to.”

“What, David? ay, a very worthy lad.  He is a downright modest, well-informed young man.”

“I don’t doubt his general merits, but let me ask you a serious question:  his evident admiration of Miss Fountain?”

“His ad-mi-ration of Miss Fountain?”

“Is it agreeable to you?”

“It is a matter of consummate indifference to me.”

“But not, I think, to her.  She showed a submission to the cub’s impertinence, and a desire to please instead of putting him down, that made me suspect.  Do you often ask Mr. Dodd—­what a name!—­to tea?”