'adequate words is wantin'!' And Letta's mother is second only to herself. Then as to the men, could there be found anywhere finer fellows than uncle Rik and Ebenezer Smithy and Frank Hedley—to say nothing of myself and our splendid little boy Sammy? I can't understand it, Robin. You 're not ill, are you?"
"Ill! no. Never was better in my life."
"Well, then, what is it? Be confidential, my boy. The witching hour of sunrise is fitted for confidential communications. You 're not in love, are—"
"Hush, Sam! the skylight is open. Come forward to the bows. Yes, Sam, I am in love."
"Well, Robin, I can't pretend ignorance, for I know it—at least I have seen it."
"Seen it!" echoed Robin, "how is that? I have never by word or look given the slightest indication to any one of the state of my feelings."
"True, Robin, as regards words, but there are other modes of indication, as must be well known to a celebrated electrician like yourself. The fact is, my dear boy, that you and Letta have been rubbing your intellects together for so many years, that you have electrified each other—the one positively, the other negatively; and even a Manx cat with an absent mind and no tail could hardly fail to observe the telegraphic communication which
