accustomed to say papa and mama; their mother would allow no such "namby-pamby.")
"Ay, my little lassie, he promised; I'll bear witness. But make him say it over again now, Jessy: such as he are only false loons."
"He is not false: he is too bonnie to be false," said Jessy, looking up to her tall sweetheart with the fullest confidence in his faith.
"Bonnie!" cried Mr. Yorke; "that's the reason that he should be, and proof that he is—a scoundrel."
"But he looks too sorrowful to be false," here interposed a quiet voice from behind the father's chair. "If he were always laughing, I should think he forgot promises soon, but Mr. Moore never laughs."
"Your sentimental buck is the greatest cheat of all, Rose," remarked Mr. Yorke.
"He's not sentimental," said Rose.
Mr. Moore turned to her with a little surprise, smiling at the same time.
"How do you know I am not sentimental, Rose?"
"Because I heard a lady say you were not."
"Voilà, qui devient intéressant!" exclaimed Mr. Yorke, hitching his chair nearer the fire. "A lady! That has quite a romantic twang: we must guess who it is. Rosy, whisper the name low to your father: don't let him hear."
