“I never,” towelling at himself as if he were his bitterest enemy, “saw such a girl as you are. What is the move, Liz?”

“Are you almost ready for breakfast, Charley?”

“You can pour it out. Hal‑loa! I say? And a bundle?”

“And a bundle, Charley.”

“You don’t mean it’s for me, too?”

“Yes, Charley; I do; indeed.”

More serious of face, and more slow of action, than he had been, the boy completed his dressing, and came and sat down at the little breakfast-table, with his eyes amazedly directed to her face.