"Ah! you should hear Miss Twinkleton," often nodding her head, and much enjoying the Lumps, "bore about them, and then you wouldn't ask. Tiresome old burying-grounds! Isises, and Ibises, and Cheopses, and Pharaohses; who cares about them? And then there was Belzoni or somebody, dragged out by the legs, half choked with bats and dust. All the girls say serve him right, and hope it hurt him, and wish he had been quite choked."
The two youthful figures, side by side, but not now arm-in-arm, wander discontentedly about the old Close; and each sometimes stops and slowly imprints a deeper footstep in the fallen leaves.
"Well!" says Edwin, after a lengthy silence. "According to custom. We can't get on, Rosa."
Rosa tosses her head, and says she don't want to get on.
"That's a pretty sentiment, Rosa, considering."
"Considering what?"
"If I say what, you'll go wrong again."
"You'll go wrong, you mean, Eddy. Don't be ungenerous."
"Ungenerous! I like that!"
"Then I don't like that, and so I tell you plainly," Rosa pouts.
"Now, Rosa, I put it to you. Who disparaged my profession, my destination——"
"You are not going to be buried in the Pyramids, I hope?" she interrupts, arching her delicate eyebrows. "You never said you were. If you are, why haven't you mentioned it to me? I can't find out your plans by instinct."
"Now, Rosa; you know very well what I mean, my dear."
"Well then, why did you begin with your detestable red-nosed Giantesses? And she would, she would, she would, she would, she would powder it!" cries Rosa, in a little burst of comical contradictory spleen.
"Somehow or other, I never can come right in these discussions," says Edwin, sighing and becoming resigned.
"How is it possible, sir, that you ever can come right when you're always wrong? And as to Belzoni, I suppose he's dead;—I'm sure I hope he is—and how can his legs, or his chokes concern you?"
"It is nearly time for your return, Rosa. We have not had a very happy walk, have we?"
"A happy walk? A detestably unhappy walk, sir. If I go up stairs the moment I get in and cry till I can't take my dancing-lesson, you are responsible, mind!"
"Let us be friends, Rosa."
"Ah!" cries Rosa, shaking her head and bursting into real tears. "I wish we could be friends! It's because we can't be friends, that we try one another so. I am a young little thing, Eddy, to have an old heartache; but I really, really have, sometimes. Don't be angry. I know you have one yourself, too often. We should both of us have done better, if What is to be had been left, What might have been. I am quite a serious little thing now,
