‘I am _sure_ of it! My dear boy, you are just at that age when men think they can live happily with any woman who is young and passably good-tempered and passably good-looking. But the daily companionship of a married life is a terrible crucible through which to pass the affections, and only the true ore will bear the test of it.’ ‘I suppose you have found the “true ore” in St. Pucelle,’ he grumbled. ‘Don’t be impudent, Charlie! Every word you say convinces me more and more of the truth of my conviction. Now do be reasonable, my dear child——’ ‘I won’t be called your “dear child.”’ ‘My dear boy, then.’ ‘Nor your “dear boy.”’ ‘What then, my dear Mr. Sandilands? Oh, you baby! If you were fifty-two instead of twenty-two, you would be skipping with pleasure at being called a child. However, I will try not to hurt your feelings again. I won’t call you “dear” at all.’ ‘No, Hilda! don’t say that.’ ‘Confess, then, that you made a mistake the other day at Norwood, and that I, with my independent spirit and intolerance of control, would never have made you happy in the way you wished me to do.’ ‘I will confess no such thing!’ ‘But your heart is not broken, Charlie. Come!’ I said, looking round into his face. He caught my glance and smiled. ‘Eureka!’ I exclaimed; ‘I knew I should get at the truth at last.’ ‘Well! of course it’s not _broken_,’ he replied, in a foolish, half-shamed manner; ‘or I shouldn’t be walking here, but you made me very miserable, you know, Hilda! I am sure I hardly ate anything for a month after you left. But you had said it was of no use, and you never should change your mind, and so I tried to make the best of it. A man cannot go on crying over spilt milk for ever, can he?’ ‘Of course not,’ I said energetically; ‘and it is so brave and nice of you to tell me the truth, Charlie. It makes me feel we shall be such real friends henceforward. And I want your friendship so much. I should have been unhappy to think that you had put it out of my power to confide in you; for things are not quite so straight here as they ought to be.’ ‘What! with the Lovetts! Aren’t they kind to you?’ ‘The girls are sweetness itself. I never had more lovable companions.’ ‘The one I saw first seemed very jolly; the pretty one, I mean!’ ‘What, Tessie? the one with fair hair?’ ‘Yes!’ ‘Oh! we call little Ange the beauty! Her face is perfectly lovely when you look into it.’ ‘I didn’t see so much of her. She kept right behind her sister. But Miss Lovett appeared the prettiest girl I had ever seen, to me—except yourself, Hilda, of course,’ added Charlie, pulling himself up with a sudden recollection of the proprieties. I laughed so heartily that I entirely discomposed him.