My dear sir, the fact is, this is an act of impulse." She paused, and looked us both in the face with a bright confidence in her own flow of nonsense that was perfectly irresistible.
"I must tell you all about it," she ran on, leading the way to the bench, and inviting us, by a little mock gesture of supplication, to seat ourselves on either side of her.

"I feel so guilty till I've told you.

Dear me! how nice this is! Here I am quite at home already.

Isn't it odd?
Well, and how do you think it happened?
The morning before yesterday Matilda--there is Matilda, picking up my bonnet from the bottom of that remarkably musty carriage--Matilda came and woke me as usual, and I hadn't an idea in my head, I assure you, till she began to brush my hair.

Can you account for it ?--I can't--but she seemed, somehow, to brush a sudden fancy for coming here into my head.