"You will get more praise from Miss Danforth than blame from me, ma'am," said Mr. Linden, submitting his cup to Faith's amendment and watching the operation.
"I don't know," said Miss Danforth goodhumouredly. "Maybe he can stand it.—If he takes two cups I should say he can. How do you like the profession of teaching, sir?"
Now to say truth, Mr. Linden did not know—not by actual practice, but it was also a truth which he did not feel bound to disclose. He therefore stirred his coffee with a good deal of deliberation, and even tasted it, before he replied,
"What would you say to me, Miss Danforth, if I professed to be fond of teaching some people some things? Miss Faith, that last lump of sugar was potent."
"What sort of people, and what sort of things, for instance?" said the lady.
"The things I know best, and the people who think they know least—for instance," he replied.
"I should say you know definitions," was Miss Danforth's again goodhumoured rejoinder.
"What did you say was the matter with the sugar, sir?" said Faith.
"I said it was potent, Miss Faith,—or I might have said, powerful. But indeed it was not the sugar's fault—the difficulty was, there was not enough coffee to counterbalance it."
"I put in too much!" said Faith, making a regretful translation of this polite speech.