“Well, say your big brother. I’m interested in you, Matt, very much interested, and I should really like to get to the bottom of the mystery about you; but we must not forget that we’re--well, almost strangers, you know. Besides,” he added, laughing again cheerily, “you are engaged to be married, some day, to a gentleman of fortune.” Matt sprang up, with heaving bosom and flashing eyes. “No, I ain’t!” she said. “I hate _him!_” “Hate the beautiful Monk of Monkshurst! Monk the beneficent! Monk the sweet-spoken! Impossible!” “Yes, I hate him,” cried Matt; “and--and--when _he_ kissed me, it made me sick.” “What, did he? Actually? Kissed you?” As he spoke, the young man actually felt that he should like to assault the redoubtable Monk. “Yes, he kissed me--once. If he kisses me again, I’ll stick something into him, or scratch his face.” And Matt looked black as thunder, and set her pearly teeth angrily together. “Sit down again, Matt!” “I shan’t--if you laugh.” “Oh, I’ll behave myself. Come!”--and he added as she returned to her place, “Did it make you sick when _I_ kissed you?” He was playing with fire. The girl’s face changed in a moment, her eyes melted, her lips trembled, and all her expression became inexpressibly soft and dreamy. Leaning gently towards him, she drooped her eyes, and then, seeing his hand resting on his knee, she took it in hers, and raised it to her lips. “I should like to marry _you_,” she said, and blushing, rested her cheek against his shoulder! Now, our hero of the caravan was a truehearted young fellow, and a man of honour, and his position had become extremely embarrassing. He could no longer conceal from himself the discovery that he had made an unmistakable impression on Matt’s unsophisticated heart. Hitherto he had looked upon her as a sort of _enfant terrible_, a very rough diamond; now he realized, with a shock of surprise and self-reproach, that she possessed, whether “growed up” or not, much of the susceptibility of grownup young ladies. It was clear that his duty was to disenchant her as speedily as possible, seeing that the discovery of the hopelessness of her attachment might, if delayed, cause her no little unhappiness. In the meantime he suffered her to nestle to him. He did not like to shake her off roughly, or to say anything unkind. He glanced round into her face; the eyes were still cast down, and the cheeks were suffused with a warm, rich light, which softened the great freckles and made her complexion look, according to the image which suggested itself to his mind, like a nice ripe pear. She was certainly very pretty. He glanced down at her hands, which rested in her lap, and again noticed that they were unusually delicate and small. Her foot, which he next inspected, he could not criticize, for the boots she wore would have been a good fit for William Jones. But the whole outline of her figure, in spite of the hideous attire she wore, was fine and symmetrical, and altogether----