“Worthy of a lady of quality, mother. It seemeth that you are anxious to hear whether or not I retain anything of my old skill in that direction, and by my faith, dear mother, you shall learn more than will satisfy your curiosity, if you beat about the bush much longer. Whom say you that you met to-day?” “What should you say if I told you that his name was Dick Harraden?” “What, Dick! Dick!--Dick Harraden!” Nell had sprung to her feet, and had grasped her mother by the shoulder, eagerly peering into her face. After a moment of silence following her exclamation, she gave her mother a little push, in the act of taking her hand off her shoulder, and threw herself back in her own chair again with a laugh--a laugh that surrounded a sigh, as a bright nimbus surrounds the sad face of a saint in a picture. “What should I say, do you ask me?” she cried. “Well, I should say that you were a liar, good mother.” Nell was never particular in her language. As an exponent of the reaction against the Puritanism of the previous generation, she was admitted by very competent judges to have scarcely an equal. “I'm no liar,” said the mother. “'T was Dick himself I met, face to face.” “It puzzles me to see wherein lies your hope of getting money from me by telling me such a tale,” said Nell. “I want not your money--at least not till the end of the month, or thereabouts. I tell you, I saw Dick within the hour.” “'T was his ghost. You know that when he threw away his link he took to the sea, and was drowned in a storm off the Grand Canary. What did the seafaring man tell us when I asked him if he had seen Dick?” “A maudlin knave, who offered you a guinea for a kiss at the pit door of Drury Lane, and then bought a basket of oranges and gave them away singly to all comers.” “But he said he had sailed in the same ship as Dick, and that it had gone down with all aboard save only himself.” “Oh, ay; and he wept plentifully when he saw how you wept--ay, and offered to be your sweetheart in the stead of poor Dick, the knave! For I saw Dick with these eyes, within the hour.” “Oh, mother--and you told him--no, you durs n't tell him--” “He had just this morning come to London from the Indies, and it was luck--ill-luck, maybe--that made him run against me. He plied me with question after question--all about Nell--his Nell, he called you, if you please.” “His Nell--ah, mother! his Nell! Well, you told him--” “I told him that you would never more need his aid to buy foot-gear. Lord! Nell, do you mind how he bought you the worsted stockings when you were nigh mad with the chilblains?” “And you told him... For God's sake, say what you told him!” “I did n't mention the king's name--no, I'm loyal to his Majesty, God save him! I only told him that you had given up selling oranges in the pit of Drury Lane, and had taken to the less reputable part of the house, to wit, the stage.”