When any body says “surely,” at once up springs a question; nothing being sure, and the word itself at heart quite interrogative. The Major knew all those little things which manage women so manfully. So he took me by the hand and led me to the light and looked at me. I had not one atom of Russian twist or dyed China grass in my hair, nor even the ubiquitous aid of horse and cow; neither in my face or figure was I conscious of false presentment. The Major was welcome to lead me to the light and to throw up all his spectacles and gaze with all his eyes. My only vexation was with myself, because I could not keep the weakness--which a stranger should not see--out of my eyes, upon sudden remembrance who it was that used to have the right to do such things to me. This it was, and nothing else, that made me drop my eyes, perhaps. “There, there, my dear!” said Major Hockin, in a softer voice than usual. “Pretty fit you are to combat with the world, and defy the world, and brave the world, and abolish the world--or at least the world's opinion! 'Bo to a goose,' you can say, my dear; but no 'bo' to a gander. No, no; do quietly what I advise--by-the-bye, you have never asked my advice.” I can not have been hypocritical, for of all things I detest that most; but in good faith I said, being conquered by the Major's relaxation of his eyes, “Oh, why have you never offered it to me? You knew that I never could ask for it.” For the moment he looked surprised, as if our ideas had gone crosswise; and then he remembered many little symptoms of my faith in his opinions; which was now growing inevitable, with his wife and daughters, and many grandchildren--all certain that he was a Solomon. “Erema,” he said, “you are a dear good girl, though sadly, sadly romantic. I had no idea that you had so much sense. I will talk with you, Erema, when we both have leisure.” “I am quite at leisure, Major Hockin,” I replied, “and only too happy to listen to you.” “Yes, yes, I dare say. You are in lodgings. You can do exactly as you please. But I have a basin of ox-tail soup, a cutlet, and a woodcock waiting for me at the Cosmopolitan Hotel. Bless me! I am five minutes late already. I will come and have a talk with you afterward.” “Thank you,” I said; “we had better leave it. It seems of no importance, compared--compared with--” “My dinner!” said the Major; but he was offended, and so was I a little, though neither of us meant to vex the other. CHAPTER XX BRUNTSEA