"He is very amusing," said Miss Linisfarne, laughing at this anecdote; "and has a good heart."
"That he has," assented Dan, heartily. "Look how kind he has been to Meg. I do not know what she would have done without yourself and Mr. Jarner."
"Ob, I have done very little," said Miss Linisfarne, carelessly. "It was a great pleasure to me to help the poor child. I am afraid you find her very rough and countrified?"
"Indeed, no. I think her perfection as she is. It would be a sin to turn her into a fine London lady."
"What do you know about London ladies?"
"What indeed!" said Dan, laughing to hide his confusion. "I am only a vagabond."
"I think we argued that question before, and disagreed upon it. You are no vagabond, though it pleases you to pass as one. By the way, you promised to tell me your name in a week or so. It is now two months since then, and I am still ignorant of it."
"I cannot tell you at present," muttered Dan, awkwardly; "on some future occasion I may."
Miss Linisfarne was disappointed at this denial, but did not see her way to press the matter. Nevertheless, she skilfully made use of the opportunity to reintroduce the topic of Meg.
"It pleases you to be mysterious," she said coldly, "and I trust your motives are straightforward."