“The _too_ was pronounced very civilly. “‘I believe not, sir,’ answered Mrs. Delany; ‘at least, she does not tell.’ “‘Oh!’ cried he, laughing, ‘that’s nothing! She is not apt to tell; she never does tell, you know! Her father told me that himself. He told me the whole history of her Evelina. And I shall never forget his face when he spoke of his feelings at first taking up the book!—he looked quite frightened, just as if he was doing it that moment! I never can forget his face while I live!’ “Then coming up close to me, he said: “‘But what?—what?—how was it?’ “‘Sir,’ cried I, not well understanding him. “‘How came you—how happened it?—what?—what? “‘I—I only wrote, sir, for my own amusement—only in some odd, idle hours.’ “‘But your publishing—your printing—how was that?’ “‘That was only, sir—only because——’ “I hesitated most abominably, not knowing how to tell him a long story, and growing terribly confused at these questions—besides, to say the truth, his own “what? what?” so reminded me of those vile Probationary Odes,[67] that, in the midst of all my flutter, I was really hardly able to keep my countenance. “The _What!_ was then repeated with so earnest a look, that, forced to say something, I stammeringly answered: “‘I thought—sir—it would look very well in print!’ “I do really flatter myself this is the silliest speech I ever made! I am quite provoked with myself for it; but a fear of laughing made me eager to utter anything, and by no means conscious, till I had spoken, of what I was saying. “He laughed very heartily himself—well he might—and walked away to enjoy it, crying out: “‘Very fair indeed! that’s being very fair and honest!’ “Then, returning to me again, he said: “‘But your father—how came you not to show him what you wrote?’ “‘I was too much ashamed of it, sir, seriously.’ “Literal truth that, I am sure. “‘And how did he find it out?’ “‘I don’t know myself, sir. He never would tell me.’... “‘What entertainment you must have had from hearing people’s conjectures before you were known! Do you remember any of them?’... “‘I heard that Mr. Baretti laid a wager it was written by a man; for no woman, he said, could have kept her own counsel.’ “This diverted him extremely. “‘But how was it,’ he continued, ‘you thought most likely for your father to discover you?’ “‘Sometimes, sir, I have supposed I must have dropped some of the manuscript: sometimes, that one of my sisters betrayed me.’ “‘Oh! your sister?—what, not your brother?’ “‘No, sir; he could not, for——’ “I was going on, but he laughed so much I could not be heard, exclaiming: “‘Vastly well! I see you are of Mr. Baretti’s mind, and think your brother could keep your secret, and not your sister.... But you have not kept your pen unemployed all this time?’ “‘Indeed I have, sir.’ “‘But why?’ “‘I—I believe I have exhausted myself, sir.’