"Oh, very!" emphatically answered Fanny.
"Do you like the moonlight?" asked Jane, seeming to address me.
"Yes, I like it." I replied; I could scarcely utter the words, my heart was so full of the lost home, with its quaint garden, sun-dial, and old trees, on which the same moon that chequered the drawn window-blind shone at this hour.
On hearing my reply, the two sisters held a whispered consultation, which ended in Fanny saying in a subdued tone—
"Will you have some sweetstuff?"
"Thank you," I replied, rather astonished, "I never eat sweets; I do not like them."
This answer appeared to produce a very unfavourable impression. The sisters seemed to think me a traitor and a spy, and to repent their imprudent confidence. Of this, though I could not see them, I was intuitively conscious.
"You need not be afraid that I should tell," I observed, somewhat indignantly.
They both said in a breath "they were sure I would not," and very kindly pressed me to share their dainties.
"Don't be afraid," encouragingly remarked Jane, "there is plenty of it."