“Provoking indeed,” said Bella, “and no burr to boast of! But don’t ask me.”
“Shall I guess?”
“You would never guess. What would you say to our Secretary?”
“My dear! The hermit Secretary, who creeps up and down the back stairs, and is never seen!”
“I don’t know about his creeping up and down the back stairs,” said Bella, rather contemptuously, “further than knowing that he does no such thing; and as to his never being seen, I should be content never to have seen him, though he is quite as visible as you are. But I pleased him (for my sins) and he had the presumption to tell me so.”
“The man never made a declaration to you, my dear Bella!”
“Are you sure of that, Sophronia?” said Bella. “ I am not. In fact, I am sure of the contrary.”
“The man must be mad,” said Mrs. Lammle, with a kind of resignation.
“He appeared to be in his senses,” returned Bella, tossing her head, “and he had plenty to say for himself. I told him my opinion of his declaration and his conduct, and dismissed him. Of course this has all been very inconvenient to me, and very disagreeable. It has remained a secret, however. That word reminds me to observe, Sophronia, that I have glided on into telling you the secret, and that I rely upon you never to mention it.”
“Mention it!” repeated Mrs. Lammle with her former feeling. “Men‑tion it!”