always doin'
the purlite when he's not mopin', says it's the mountain hair as is
agreein' with her, but I think its the hair-soup. Anyhow she's more
friendly with her wittles here than she ever was in England. After
comin' in from that excursion where them two stout fellers carried her
up the mountains, an' all but capsized her and themselves, incloodin'
the chair, down a precipice, while passin' a string o' mules on a track
no broader than the brim of Mister Slingsby's wide-awake, she took to
her wittles with a sort of lovin' awidity that an't describable. The
way she shovelled in the soup, an' stowed away the mutton chops, an'
pitched into the pease and taters, to say nothing of cauliflower and
cutlets, was a caution to the billions. It made my mouth water to look
at her, an' my eyes too--only that may have had somethin' to do with the
keyhole, for them 'otels of Chamouni are oncommon draughty. Yes,"
continued Gillie, slowly, as if he were musing, "she's failed in love
with wittles, an' it's by no means a misplaced affection. It would be
well for the Count if he could fall in the same direction. Did you ever
look steadily at the Count, Susan?"

"I can't say I ever did; at least not more so than at other people.
Why?"

"Because, if you ever do look at him steadily, you'll see care a-sittin'
wery heavy on his long yeller face. There's somethin' the matter with
that Count, either in 'is head or 'is stummick, I ain't sure which; but,
whichever it is, it has descended to his darter, for that gal's face is
too anxious by half for such a young and pretty one. I have quite a
sympathy, a sort o' feller-feelin', for that Count. He seems to me the
wictim of a secret sorrow."

Susan looked at her small admirer with surprise, and then burst into a
hearty laugh.

"You're a queer boy, Gillie."

To an unsophisticated country girl like Susan Quick, the London
street-boy must indeed have seemed a remarkable being. He was not
indeed an absolute "Arab," being the son of an honest hardworking
mother, but being also the son of a drunken, ill-doing father, he had,
in the course of an extensive experience of bringing his paternal parent
home from gin-palaces and low theatres, imbibed a good deal of the
superficial part of the "waif" character, and, but for the powerful and
benign influence of his mother, might have long ago entered the ranks of
our criminal population. As it was, he had acquired a knowledge of "the
world"