“Then you actually like him.”

“I don’t dislike him.”

“Then I pity your taste, that is all.”

“Mr. Talboys has many good qualities; and if he was what you describe him, Uncle Fountain would not prize him as he does.”

“There is something in that, Lucy; but I think my guardian and you are mad upon just that one point.  Talboys is a fool and a snob.”

“Arthur,” said Lucy, severely, “if you speak so of my uncle’s friends, you and I shall quarrel.”

“You won’t quarrel just now, if you can help it.”

“Won’t I, though?  Why not, pray?”

“Because your skein is not wound yet.”

“Oh, you little black-hearted thing!”

“I know human nature, miss,” said the urchin, pompously; “I have read Miss Edgeworth!!!”

He then made an appeal to her candor and good sense.  “Now don’t you see my friend Mr. Dodd is worth them all put together?”

“I can’t quite see that.”

“He is so noble, so kind, so clever.”

“You must own he is a trifle brusk.”

“Never.  And, if he is, that is not like hurting people’s feelings on purpose, and saying nasty, ill-natured things wrapped up in politeness that you daren’t say out like a man, or you’d get kicked.  He is a gentleman inside; that Talboys is only one outside; but you girls can’t look below the surface.”

“We have not read Miss Edgeworth.  His hands are not so white as Mr. Talboys’.”

“Nor his liver, either—­oh, you goose!  Which has the finest eyes?  Why, you don’t see such eyes as Mr. Dodd’s every day.  They are as large as yours, only his are dark.”

“Don’t be angry, dear.  You must admit his voice is very loud.”

“He can make it loud, but it is always low and gentle whenever he speaks to you.  I have noticed that; so that is monstrous ungrateful of you.”

“There, the skein is wound.  Arthur!”

“Well?”

“I have a great mind to tell you something your friend Mr. Dodd said while you were out of the room—­but no, you shall finish your story first.”

“No, no; hang the story!”

“Ah! you only say that out of politeness.  I have taken you from it so long already.”

The impetuous boy jumped up, seized the volumes, dashed out, and presently came running back, crying:  “There, I have thrown them behind the bookcase for ever and ever.  Now will you tell me what he said?”

Lucy smiled triumphantly.  She could relish a bloodless victory over an inanimate rival.  Then she said softly, “Arthur, what I am going to tell you is in confidence.”

“I will be torn in pieces before I betray it,” said the young chevalier.

Lucy smiled at his extravagance, then began again very gravely:  “Mr. Talboys, who, with many good qualities, has—­what shall I say?—­narrow and artificial views compared with your friend—­”

“Ah! now you are talking sense.”