Faith looked up and gave her inquisitor a full clear look, such as curiosity never cares for, while she answered with quiet dignity, "He did not tell me, Miss Essie."
"It's a pity Dr. Harrison's just going now that you're just come," said the lady of the black eyes, shifting her ground. "You used to be such friends."
"What is a friend?" said Mr. Linden—"By the way, Miss Essie, you should make these cresses an excuse for at least eating salt with us, and so prove your title to the name."
"Dear me!" said the lady taking a handful,—"I thought a friend was something more—more etherial than that!"
"Than what, if you please?"
"A person who eats your salt!—I don't love cresses. I am not one of
Nebuchadnezzar's family. Where did you get the fashion? It's French.
Dr. Harrison eats them. Did he teach it to you, Faith?"
"I think I had that honour," said Mr. Linden.
"I dare say you gave more lessons than were given in school," said Miss
Essie significantly. "What else did you learn of him, Faith?"
Faith gave the lady only a glance of her soft eye, but her face and her very throat were charged with varying colour. Her attention went from cresses to cowslips.
"I am saucy!" said the lady.—"Mr. Linden, are you coming back to the bona fide school here? there'll be a great many glad."