The Elfin suddenness with which she pounced upon me with this question, and a searching look, quite disconcerted me for a moment.

“No, Miss Mowcher,” I replied. “Her name is Emily.”

“Aha?” she cried exactly as before. “Umph? What a rattle I am! Mr. Copperfield, ain’t I volatile?”

Her tone and look implied something that was not agreeable to me in connection with the subject. So I said, in a graver manner than any of us had yet assumed: “She is as virtuous as she is pretty. She is engaged to be married to a most worthy and deserving man in her own station of life. I esteem her for her good sense, as much as I admire her for her good looks.”