“Nay, I doan’t think she hes any claim on Yorkshire. I think she comes Westmoreland way. She is a sister to a member of the Lower House called De Burg. He’s a handsome lad to look at. I hevn’t hed time yet to go further.”

“Have you seen this little girl, aunt?”

“Yes. She was here once with her brother. He says she has never been much from home before, and Dick says, that as far as he can make out, her home is a gray old castle among the bleak, desolate, Westmoreland Mountains. It might be a kindness for Katherine to go and see her.”

“If you will go with me, aunt, I will do so.”

“Not I. Take Dick with thee. He will fill the bill all round.”

“Well, then, I will ask Dick;” and to these words the squire entered.

He appeared to be a little offended because no one had seen him coming and all three women assumed an air of contrition for having neglected to be on the lookout for him. “We were all so interested about Dick’s new sweetheart,” said Madam Annis, “and somehow, thou slipped out of mind for a few minutes. It was thoughtless, Antony, it was that.”

“Have you had a good meal lately, Antony?” asked his sister.

“No, Josepha, I hevn’t. I came to ask thee to give me a bit of lunch. I hev an appointment at three o’clock for The House and I shall need a good substantial bite, for there’s no saying when I’ll get away from there. What can thou give me?”

“Oysters, hare soup, roast beef, and a custard pudding.”

“All good enough. I suppose there’ll be a Yorkshire pudding with thy beef; it would seem queer and half-done without it.”

“Well, Antony, I suppose I do know how to roast beef before t’ fire and put a pudding under it. I’d be badly educated, if I didn’t.”

“If Yorkshire pudding is to be the test, Josepha, then thou art one of the best educated women in England.”

“Father, Dick’s new love is Miss De Burg. What do you think of that?”

“He might do worse than marry a De Burg, and he might do better. I’m not in a mood to talk about anyone’s marriage.”

“Not even of mine, father?”

“Thine, least of all. And thou hes to get a decent lover before thou hes to ask me if he can be thy husband.”

“I hev a very good lover, father.”

“No, thou hes not. Not one that can hev a welcome in my family and home. Not one! No doubt thou wilt hev plenty before we leave London. Get thy mother to help thee choose the right one. There now! That’s enough of such foolishness! My varry soul is full of matters of life or death to England. I hev not one thought for lovers and husbands at this time. Why, England is varry near rebellion, and I tell you three women there is no Oliver Cromwell living now to guide her over the bogs of misgovernment and anarchy. Russell said this morning, ‘it was the Reform Bill or Revolution.’” Then lunch was brought in and the subject was dropped until the squire lit his pipe for “a bit of a smoke.” Katherine was, however, restless and anxious; she was watching for her sister’s arrival and when the squire heard of the intended visit, he said: “I doan’t want to see Jane this afternoon. Tell her I’ll see her at her home this evening and, Josepha, I’ll smoke my pipe down the garden to the Watergate and take a boat there for Westminster. Then I can smoke all the way. I’m sure I can’t tell what I would do without it.”

And as they watched him down to the Watergate, they heard Jane’s carriage stop at the street entrance.

CHAPTER V – THE DISORDER CALLED LOVE

“She was good as she was fair
None on earth above her!
As pure in thought as angels are,
To know her was to love her!”

THE three ladies had reached the open door in time to watch Lady Jane leave her carriage, a movement not easy to describe, for it was the result of an action practiced from early childhood, and combining with the unconscious grace and ease of habitual action, a certain decisive touch of personality, that made for distinction. She was dressed in the visiting costume of the period, a not more ungraceful one than the fashion of the present time. Its material was rich violet poplin and it appeared to be worn over a small hoop. It was long enough to touch the buckles on her sandaled shoes and its belt line was in the proper place. The bodice was cut low to the shoulders and the sleeves were large and full to the elbows, then tight to the wrists. A little cape not falling below the belt and handsomely trimmed with ermine, completed the costume. The bonnets of that time were large and very high and open, adorned with ostrich feathers much curled and standing fancifully upright. Jane’s was of this shape and the open space across the head was filled with artificial flowers, but at the sides were loose, long curls of her own splendid hair, falling below her throat, and over the ermine trimmed cape. This bonnet was tied under the chin with a handsome bow of violet ribbon. All the smaller items of her dress were perfect in their way, not only with the mode, but also in strict propriety with her general appearance.

She was warmly welcomed and responded to it with hearty acquiescence, her attitude towards Katherine being specially lovely and affectionate. “My little sister is a beauty!” she said. “I am so proud of her. And now let us have a little talk about her gowns and bonnets! She must have some pretty ones, mother.”

“She shall have all that is needful, Jane,” said Mrs. Annis. “Their cost will not break her father, just yet.”

“You must ask me to go with you to shop, mother. I think I can be of great use.”

“Of course. We have calculated on your help. Will you come to the hotel for me?”

“Here! Hold on bit!” cried Aunt Josepha. “Am I invited, or not?”

“Certainly, Josepha,” answered Mistress Annis very promptly. “We cannot do without you. You will go with us, of course.”

“Well, as to-morrow is neither Wednesday, nor Friday, I may do so – but I leave myself free. I may not go.”

“Why would Wednesday and Friday be objectionable, Josepha?”

“Well, Annie, if thou hed done as much business with the world as I hev done, thou’d know by this time of thy life that thou couldn’t make a good bargain on either o’ them days. There’s some hope on a Friday because if Friday isn’t the worst day in the week it’s the very best. There is no perhaps about Wednesday. I allays let things bide as they are on Wednesday.”

“Shall I come here for you, aunt?”

“No, no, Jane. If I go with you I will be at the Clarendon with Annie at half-past nine. If I’m not there at that time I will not be going – no, not for love or money.”

“But you will go the next day – sure?”

“Not a bit of sureness in me. I doan’t know how I’ll be feeling the next day. Take off your bonnet and cape, Jane, and sit down. I want to see how you look. We’ll hev our little talk and by and by a cup of tea, and then thou can run away as soon as tha likes.”

“I cannot stay very long. I have a dinner tonight, and my servants need overlooking.”

“I hope that cynical De Burg is not going to eat with you. He’ll niver break bread at my table.”

“Why, aunt, he is a man of the highest culture and one of the best speakers in The House!”

“Let him talk as much as he likes in t’ House; there’s a few men to match him there.”

“How has he offended you, aunt? He is quite a favorite with Leyland and myself.”

“Whatever does tha see in his favor?”

“He has such a fine bearing and such graceful manners. Leyland says that in the most excited hubbubs of The House, he carries himself with all the serenity and aristocratic poise of an English gentleman – I should say, nobleman.”

“There’s no wonder tha forgets his nobility. It only counts to his grandfather. I’ll tell thee something, Jane – a gentleman is allays a nobleman, a nobleman may be a gentleman, and he may be varry far from it; but there, now! I’ll say no more, or I’ll mebbe say too much! How many dresses does our beauty want?”

This question opened a discussion of such interest that a servant entered with the tea service and hot crumpets before they were thinking of the time; and half an hour afterwards Katherine was ready to accompany her sister to the Leyland home.

During the first two weeks, the early part of Katherine’s days were spent either in shopping, or in “trying on,” and such events rarely need more than an allusion. Every woman has some, or all of the experiences incident to this trial; but though they may be of personal importance, they have no general interest. We may pass Katherine’s dressmaking trials, by knowing that they were in the hands of four or five women capable of arranging them in the most satisfactory manner. Katherine herself left them as early as possible, and spent the most of her time in her father’s company, and Lady Jane approved transiently of this arrangement. She did not wish Katherine to be seen and talked about until she was formally introduced and could make a proper grand entry into the society she wished her to enter. Of course there were suppositions floating about concerning the young lady seen so much with Lady Leyland; but as long as the talk remained indefinite, it was stimulating and working for a successful début.

This interval was in many ways very pleasant to Katherine for the squire took her to all those sights of London which people are expected to know all about – the Tower – the British Museum – St. Paul’s Church and Westminster Abbey; and so forth. Sometimes the squire met an old acquaintance from his own neighborhood and they went somewhere and had a cup of tea together, the squire simply saying, “This is my little girl, Denby; my youngest.” Such an introduction demanded nothing but a smile and a few courteous words, and these civilities Katherine managed with retiring modesty and simplicity.

Now, one morning, as they were walking down High Holborn, they met a near neighbor, a very shrewd, cheerful gentleman, called Samuel Wade, the squire of Everdeen. Annis and Katherine had turned into a pretty white dairy for a plate of Devonshire cream and Samuel Wade was slowly and thoughtfully partaking of the same dainty.

“Hello, Wade! Whatever hes brought thee away from thy hounds and kennels this fine spring weather?” asked Annis.

“I will tell thee, Annis, if tha’ will give me a halfhour and I know no man I could be so glad to see as thysen. I’m in a quandary, squire, and I would be glad of a word or two with thee.”

“Why, then, thou hes it! What does t’a want to say to me?”

“Why-a, Annis, I want to tell thee I am building a mill.”

“Niver! Niver! Thee building a mill! I niver thought of such a to-do as that.”

“Nor I, either, till I was forced to do it, but when that hour arrived, my weavers and I came to the conclusion that we weren’t bound to starve to save anybody’s trade feelings. So I agreed to put up a factory and they hev got work here and there just to learn the ways of this new-fangled loom, so that when I hev t’ factory ready they’ll be ready for it and glad enough to come home.”

“I’m not the man to blame thee, Samuel; I hev hed some such thoughts mysen.”

“It was our preacher that put it into my mind. He said to us one night when the men had been complaining of machine labor – ‘Brothers, when God is on the side of civilization and the power-loom, how are you going to use the hand loom? The hand loom is dead and buried,’ he said, ‘and what is the use of keeping up a constant burying of this same old Defuncter. It’ll cost you all the brass you hev and you’ll die poor and good for nothing. The world is moving and you can’t hold it back. It will just kick you off as cumberers of the ground.’ And after that talk three men went out of t’ chapel and began to build factories; and I was one of t’ three and I’m none sorry for it —yet.”

“And where is tha building?”

“Down t’ Otley road a few miles from my awn house, but my three lads are good riders and it would be hard to beat me unless it was with better stock than I hev; and I niver let anyone best me in that way if I can help it. So the few miles does not bother us.”

“What made you build so far from Wade House?”

“Why-a, squire, I didn’t want to hev the sight of the blamed thing before my eyes, morning, noon and night, and t’ land I bought was varry cheap and hed plenty of water-power on it.”

“To be sure. I hed forgot. Well then what brought thee to London? It is a rayther dangerous place now, I can tell thee that; or it will be, if Parliament doesn’t heed the warnings given and shown.”

“Well, Annis, I came on my awn business and I’m not thinking of bothering Parliament at present. A factory is enough for all the brains I hev, for tha knows well that my brains run after horses – but I’ll tell thee what, factories hey a wonderful way of getting into your pocket.”

“That is nothing out of the way with thee. Thy pocket is too full, but I should think a factory might be built in Yorkshire without coming to London about it.”

“Annis, tha knaws that if I meddle wi’ anything, I’ll do what I do, tip-top or not at all. I hed the best of factory architects Leeds could give me and I hev ordered the best of power looms and of ivery other bit of machinery; but t’ ither day a man from Manchester went through Wade Mill and he asked me how many Jacquard looms I was going to run. I hed niver heard of that kind of a loom, but I felt I must hev some. Varry soon I found out that none of the weavers round Otley way knew anything about Jacquard looms and they didn’t seem to want to know either, but my eldest lad, Sam, said he would like to hev some and to know all about them. So I made good inquiry and I found out the best of all the Jacquard weavers in England lived in a bit of London called Spitalfields. He is a Frenchman, I suppose, for his name is Pierre Delaney.”

“And did you send your son to him?”

“I did that and now Sam knows all about Jacquard looms, for he sent me word he was coming home after a week in London just to look about him and then I thought I would like to see the machine at work and get the name of the best maker of it. So I came at once and I’m stopping at the hotel where t’ mail coach stopped, but I’m fairly bewildered. Sam has left his stopping place and I rayther think is on his way home. I was varry glad to see thy face among so many strange ones. I can tell thee that!”

“How can I help thee, Wade?”

“Why, thou can go with me to see this Jacquard loom and give me thy opinion.”

“I hev niver seen a Jacquard loom mysen and I would like to see one; but I could not go now, for as tha sees I hev my little lass with me.”

“Father, I want to see this loom at this place called Spitalfields. Let me go with you. Please, father, let me go with you; do!”

“There’s nothing to hinder,” said Squire Wade. “I should think, Annis, that thou and mysen could take care of t’ little lass.”

“Let me go, father!”

“Well, then, we will go at once. The day is yet early and bright, but no one can tell what it will be in an hour or two.”

So Wade called a coach and they drove to London’s famous manufacturing district noted for the excellence of its brocaded silks and velvet, and the beauty and variety of its ribbons, satins and lutestrings. The ride there was full of interest to Katherine and she needed no explanation concerning the groups of silent men standing at street corners sullen and desperate-looking, or else listening to some passionate speaker. Annis and Wade looked at each other and slightly shook their heads but did not make any remark. The locality was not a pleasant one; it spoke only of labor that was too urgent to have time for “dressing up,” as Pierre Delaney – the man they were visiting – explained to them.

They found Delaney in his weaving shop, a large many-windowed room full of strange looking looms and of men silent and intensely pre-occupied. No one looked round when they entered, and as Wade and Annis talked to the proprietor, Katherine cast her eyes curiously over the room. She saw that it was full of looms, large ponderous looms, with much slower and heavier movements than the usual one; and she could not help feeling that the long, dangling, yellow harness which hung about each loom fettered and in some way impeded its motion. The faces of all the workers were turned from the door and they appeared to be working slowly and with such strict attention that not one man hesitated, or looked round, though they must have known that strangers had entered the room.

In a few minutes Katherine’s curiosity was intense. She wanted to go close to the looms, and watch the men at what seemed to be difficult work. However, she had scarcely felt the thrill of this strong desire ere her father took her hand and they went with Delaney to a loom at the head of the room. He said “he was going to show them the work of one of his pupils, who had great abilities for patterns requiring unwavering attention and great patience; but in fact,” he added, “every weaver in this room has as much as he can manage, if he keeps his loom going.”

The man whose work they were going to examine must have heard them approaching, but he made no sign of such intelligence until they stood at his side. Then he lifted his head, and as he did so, Katherine cried out – “Father! Father! It is Harry! It is Harry Bradley! Oh Harry! Harry! Whatever are you doing here?” And then her voice broke down in a cry that was full both of laughter and tears.

Yes, it was really Harry Bradley, and with a wondering happy look he leaped from his seat, threw off his cap and so in a laughing hurry he stood before them. Squire Annis was so amazed he forgot that he was no longer friends with Harry’s father and he gave an honest expression of his surprise.

“Why-a, Harry! Harry! Whativer is tha up to? Does thy father know the kind of game thou art playing now, lad?”

“Squire, dear! It is business, not play, that I am up to. I am happy beyond words to see you, squire! I have often walked the road you take to The House, hoping I might do so.” And the young man put out his hand, and without thinking, the squire took it. Acting on impulse, he could not help taking it. Harry was too charming, too delightful to resist. He wore his working apron without any consciousness of it and his handsome face and joyful voice and manner made those few moments all his own. The squire was taken captive by a happy surprise and eagerly seconded Katherine’s desire to see him at such absorbing work as his loom appeared to require.

Harry took his seat again without parleying or excuse. He was laughing as he did so, but as soon as he faced the wonderful design before him, he appeared to be unconscious of everything else. His watchers were quickly lost in an all absorbing interest as they saw an exquisite design of leaves and flowers growing with every motion of the shuttle, while the different threads of the harness rose and fell as if to some perfectly measured tune.

And as he worked his face changed, the boyish, laughing expression disappeared, and it was a man’s face full of watchful purpose, alert and carefully bent on one object and one end. The squire noticed the change and he admired it. He wished secretly that he could see the same manly look on Dick’s face, forgetting that he had never seen Dick under the same mental strain.

But this reflection was only a thread running through his immense pleasure in the result of Harry’s wonderful manipulation of the forces at his command and his first impulse was to ask Harry to take dinner with him and Wade, at the Clarendon. He checked himself as regarded dinner, but he asked Harry:

“Where art thou staying, Harry? I shouldn’t think Spitalfields quite the place for thy health.”

“I am only here for working hours, squire. I have a good room at the Yorkshire Club and I have a room when I want it at Mistress Temple’s. I often stay there when Dick is in London.”

“My word!” ejaculated the squire. He felt at once that the young man had no need of his kindness, and his interest in him received a sudden chill.

This conversation occurred as Wade and Delaney were walking down the room together talking about Jacquard looms and their best maker. Katherine had been hitherto silent as far as words were concerned, but she had slipped her hand into Harry’s hand when he had finished his exhibition at the loom. It was her way of praising him and Harry had held the little hand fast and was still doing so when the squire said:

“Harry, looms are wonderful creatures – ay, and I’ll call them ‘creatures.’ They hev sense or they know how to use the sense of men that handle them properly. I hev seen plenty of farm laborers that didn’t know that much; but those patterns you worked from, they are beyond my making out.”

“Well, squire, many designs are very elaborate, requiring from twenty thousand to sixty thousand cards for a single design. Weaving like that is a fine art, I think.”

“Thou art right. Is tha going to stay here any longer to-day or will tha ride back with us?”

“Oh, sir, if I only might go back with you! In five minutes, I will be ready.”

The squire turned hastily away with three short words, “Make haste, then.” He was put out by the manner in which Harry had taken his civil offer. He had only meant to give him a lift back to his club but Harry appeared to have understood it as an invitation to dinner. He was wondering how he could get out of the dilemma and so did not notice that Harry kissed Katherine’s hand as he turned away. Harry had found few opportunities to address her, none at all for private speech, yet both Katherine and Harry were satisfied. For every pair of lovers have a code of their own and no one else has the key to it.

In a short time Harry reappeared in a very dudish walking suit, but Wade and Delaney were not ready to separate and the squire was hard set to hide his irritability. Harry also looked too happy, and too handsome, for the gentlemen’s dress of A. D. 1833 was manly and becoming, with its high hat, pointed white vest, frock coat, and long thin cane, always carried in the left hand. However, conversation even about money comes to an end and at length Wade was satisfied, and they turned city-ward in order to leave Wade at his hotel. On arriving there, Annis was again detained by Wade’s anxieties and fears, but Harry had a five minutes’ heavenly interlude. He was holding Katherine’s hand and looking into her eyes and saying little tender, foolish words, which had no more meaning than a baby’s prattle, but Katherine’s heart was their interpreter and every syllable was sweet as the dropping of the honey-comb.

Through all this broken conversation, however, Harry was wondering how he could manage to leave the coach with Katherine. If he could only see Lady Jane, he knew she would ask him to remain, but how was he to see Lady Jane and what excuse could he make for asking to see her? It never struck the young man that the squire was desirous to get rid of him. He was only conscious of the fact that he did not particularly desire an evening with Katherine’s father and mother and that he did wish very ardently to spend an evening with Katherine and Lady Jane; and the coach went so quick, and his thoughts were all in confusion, and they were at the Leyland mansion before he had decided what to say, or do. Then the affair that seemed so difficult, straightened itself out in a perfectly natural, commonplace manner. For when Katherine rose, as a matter of course, Harry also rose; and without effort, or consideration, said —

“I will make way for you, squire, or if you wish no further delay, I will see Katherine into Lady Leyland’s care.”

“I shall be obliged to you, Harry, if you will do so,” was the answer. “I am a bit tired and a bit late, and Mistress Annis will be worrying hersen about me, no doubt. I was just thinking of asking you to do me this favor.” Then the squire left a message for his eldest daughter and drove rapidly away, but if he had turned his head for a moment he might have seen how happily the lovers were slowly climbing the white marble steps leading them to Lady Leyland’s door. Hand in hand they went, laughing a little as they talked, because Harry was telling Katherine how he had been racking his brains for some excuse to leave the coach with her and how the very words had come at the moment they were wanted.

At the very same time the squire was telling himself “how cleverly he had got rid of the young fellow. He would hev bothered Annie above a bit,” he reflected, “and it was a varry thoughtless thing for me to do – asking a man to dinner, when I know so well that Annie likes me best when I am all by mysen. Well, I got out of that silly affair cleverly. It is a good thing to hev a faculty for readiness and I’m glad to say that readiness is one thing that Annie thinks Antony Annis hes on call. Well, well, the lad was glad to leave me and I was enough pleased to get rid of him.” And if any good fellow should read this last paragraph he will not require me to tell him how the little incident of “getting rid of Harry” brightened the squire’s dinner, nor how sweetly Annie told her husband that he was “the kindest-hearted of men and could do a disagreeable thing in such an agreeable manner, as no other man, she had ever met, would think of.”

Then he told Annie about the Jacquard loom and Harry’s mastery of it, and when this subject was worn out, Annie told her husband that Jane was going to introduce Katherine to London society on the following Tuesday evening. She wanted to make it Wednesday evening, but “Josepha would not hear of it” – she said, with an air of injury, “and Josepha always gets what she desires.”

“Why shouldn’t Josepha get all she desires? When a woman hes a million pounds to give away beside property worth a fortune the world hes no more to give her but her awn way. I should think Josepha is one of the richest women in England.”

“However did the Admiral get so much money?”

“All prize money, Annie. Good, honest, prize money! The Admiral’s money was the price of his courage. He threshed England’s enemies for every pound of it; and when we were fighting Spain, Spanish galleons, loaded with Brazilian gold, were varry good paymasters even though Temple was both just and generous to his crews.”

“No wonder then, if Josepha be one of the richest women in England. Who is the richest man, Antony?”

“I am, Annie! I am! Thou art my wife and there is not gold enough in England to measure thy worth nor yet to have made me happy if I had missed thee.” What else could a wise and loving husband say?

In the meantime Katherine and Harry had been gladly received by Lady Jane, who at once asked Harry to stay and dine with them.

“What about my street suit?” asked Harry.

“We have a family dinner this evening and expect no one to join us. De Burg may probably call and he may bring his sister with him. However, Harry, you know your old room on the third floor. I will send Leyland’s valet there and he will manage to make you presentable.”

These instructions Harry readily obeyed, and soon as he had left the room Lady Jane asked – “Where did you pick him up, Kitty? He is quite a detrimental in father’s opinion, you know.”

“I picked him up in a weaving room in the locality called Spitalfields. He was working there on a Jacquard loom.”

“What nonsense you are talking!”

“I am telling you facts, Jane. I will explain them later. Now I must go and dress for dinner, if you are expecting the De Burgs.”

“They will only pay an evening call, but make yourself as pretty as is proper for the occasion. If De Burg does not bring his sister you will not be expected to converse.”

“Oh, Jane dear! I am not thinking, or caring, about the De Burgs. My mind was on Harry and of course I shall dress a little for Harry. I have always done that.”

“You will take your own way, Kitty, that also you have always done.”

“Well, then, is there any reason why I should not take my own way now?”

She asked this question in a pleasant, laughing manner that required no answer; and with it disappeared not returning to the parlor, until the dinner hour was imminent. She found Harry and Lady Jane already there, and she fancied they were talking rather seriously. In fact, Harry had eagerly seized this opportunity to try and enlist Jane’s sympathy in his love for Katherine. He had passionately urged their long devotion to each other and entreated her to give him some opportunities to retain his hold on her affection.

Jane had in no way compromised her own position. She was kind-hearted and she had an old liking for Harry, but she was ambitious, and she was resolved that Katherine should make an undeniably good alliance. De Burg was not equal to her expectations but she judged he would be a good auxiliary to them. “My beautiful sister,” she thought, “must have a splendid following of lovers and De Burg will make a prominent member of it.”

So she was not sorry to see Katherine enter in a pretty, simple frock of flowered silk, pale blue in color, and further softened by a good deal of Valenciennes lace and a belt and long sash of white ribbon. Her hair was dressed in the mode, lifted high and loosely, and confined by an exquisite comb of carved ivory; the frontal curls were pushed behind the ears, but fell in bright luxuriance almost to her belt. So fair was she, so fresh and sweet and lovely, that Leyland – who was both sentimental and poetic, within practical limits – thought instantly of Ben Jonson’s exquisite lines, and applied them to his beautiful sister-in-law:

Have you seen but a bright lily grow
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall of the snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you smelt of the bud of the brier,
Or the nard in the fire?
Or tasted the bag of the bee,
O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!

And then he felt a decided obligation to his own good judgment, for inducing him to marry into so handsome a family.

It was a comfortable mood in which to sit down to dinner and Harry’s presence also added to his pleasure, for it promised him some conversation not altogether feminine. Indeed, though the dinner was a simple family one, it was a very delightful meal. Leyland quoted some of his shortest and finest lines, Lady Jane merrily recalled childish episodes in which Harry and herself played the principal rôles, and Katherine made funny little corrections and additions to her sister’s picturesque childish adventures; also, being healthily hungry, she ate a second supply of her favorite pudding and thus made everyone comfortably sure that for all her charm and loveliness, she was yet a creature