"You're late for dinner, Rosanna--and I have come to fetch you in." "You, Mr.Betteredge!" says she.
"They told Nancy to fetch you," I said.

"But thought you might like your scolding better, my dear, if it came from me." Instead of helping me up, the poor thing stole her hand into mine, and gave it a little squeeze.

She tried hard to keep from crying again, and succeeded--for which I respected her.

"You're very kind, Mr.
Betteredge," she said.

"I don't want any dinner to-day--let me bide a little longer here." "What makes you like to be here ?" I asked.