"Do I really take after you, papa? Are you sure that you understand me so well?" she asked, brightening up.
"I know I do," I returned, replying to her last question.
"Better than I do myself?" she asked with an arch smile.
"Considerably, if I mistake not," I answered.
"How delightful! To think that I am understood even when I don't understand myself!"
"But even if I am wrong, you are yet understood. The blessedness of life is that we can hide nothing from God. If we could hide anything from God, that hidden thing would by and by turn into a terrible disease. It is the sight of God that keeps and makes things clean. But as we are both, by mutual confession, fond of this kind of weather, what do you say to going out with me? I have to visit a sick woman."
"You don't mean Mrs. Coombes, papa?"
"No, my dear. I did not hear she was ill."
"O, I daresay it is nothing much. Only old nursey said yesterday she was in bed with a bad cold, or something of that sort."
"We'll call and inquire as we pass,—that is, if you are inclined to go with me."