"There are two fine boys, who want to be sailors, but they are too old, I am afraid, for the navy; they are thirteen."
"They—both thirteen!"
"Yes, they are twins. Then there is a lame boy, Piers, a year younger. And oh, I forgot! a quiet, silent fellow, Ralph, he is sixteen."
"And does the great Melville, come next to him?"
"Two little girls died. But there is a daughter of seventeen."
"Ah!" exclaimed Gratian; "I knew there was a daughter. Did I not tell you I knew you were in love? Tell me her name. Come! We are such old friends. Surely you might tell me."
"Really, Gratian, I will tell you Miss Falconer's name if you so particularly wish to hear it. I—"
"I will guess it. Let me see. I love my love with an A, because she is amiable, and I took her to the sign of the Archer, and fed her with apples, and her name is Angela. Not right? Well, I will go through the alphabet, and I must surely be right at last. I love my love with a B——."
"Pray stop," Gilbert said. "I don't feel in a jesting mood, somehow."
"Not ready to wear a cap and bells? Poor Gilbert. You feel more like sitting under a willow tree and singing 'Poor Mary Anne.'"