'Come! who is it?' Harry burst out.
'I am not, surely, obliged to confess my correspondence to you? Remember!' she laughed lightly. 'He already assumes the airs of a lord and master! You are rapid, Mr. Harry.'
'Won't you really tell me?' he pleaded.
She put a corner of the letter in the box. 'Must I?'
All was done with the archest elegance: the bewildering condescension of a Goddess to a boor.
'I don't say you must, you know: but I should like to see it,' returned
Harry.
'There!' She showed him a glimpse of 'Mrs.,' cleverly concealing plebeian 'Cogglesby,' and the letter slid into darkness. 'Are you satisfied?'
'Yes,' said Harry, wondering why he felt a relief at the sight of 'Mrs.' written on a letter by a lady he had only known half an hour.
'And now,' said she, 'I shall demand a boon of you, Mr. Harry. Will it be accorded?'
She was hurriedly told that she might count upon him for whatever she chose to ask; and after much trifling and many exaggerations of the boon in question, he heard that she had selected him as her cavalier for the day, and that he was to consent to accompany her to the village church.