'What a nice young lady Miss Emily is!' said Mary, after a
long silence.
The fat boy had by this time finished the pie. He fixed his eyes
on Mary, and replied--
'I knows a nicerer.'
'Indeed!' said Mary.
'Yes, indeed!' replied the fat boy, with unwonted vivacity.
'What's her name?' inquired Mary.
'What's yours?'
'Mary.'
'So's hers,' said the fat boy. 'You're her.' The boy grinned to
add point to the compliment, and put his eyes into something
between a squint and a cast, which there is reason to believe he
intended for an ogle.
'You mustn't talk to me in that way,' said Mary; 'you don't
mean it.'
'Don't I, though?' replied the fat boy. 'I say?'
'Well?'
'Are you going to come here regular?'
'No,' rejoined Mary, shaking her head, 'I'm going away again
to-night. Why?'
'Oh,' said the fat boy, in a tone of strong feeling; 'how we
should have enjoyed ourselves at meals, if you had been!'
'I might come here sometimes, perhaps, to see you,' said
Mary, plaiting the table-cloth in assumed coyness, 'if you would
do me a favour.'
The fat boy looked from the pie-dish to the steak, as if he
thought a favour must be in a manner connected with something
to eat; and then took out one of the half-crowns and glanced at
it nervously.
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