"Oh, no; you told me, whenever I was completely puzzled, that silence
was best; so I said nothing. Pasta's the name of a singer, then! Oh,
that accounts, for a moment after she the mamma said, that her daughter
Arabella sang delightfully, and asked me if I would sing with her; so I
said no, I'd much rather listen. That was right, warn't it? You see I
knew you'd ask me all about it, so I recollected it for you. Arabella
then asked me if I would accompany her? so I said, Wherever she
liked,--where did she want to go? But, I suppose, she altered her mind,
for she sat down to the grand instrument you had brought here for me to
begin my lessons upon; and then she sang such an extraordinary song--all
coming from her throat. And the sister asked me if I understood German?
and I answered, No, nor French neither."

"That was an unnecessary addition, my love."

"Well, so it was. Then the youngest sister explained to me, that it was
a song a Swiss peasant girl sang whilst she was milking her cow; and I
said that must be very difficult, to sing while milking a cow. And then
the mamma asked how I knew; and I said I had _tried_ very _often_."

"How could you, dear Lucy, volunteer such an avowal?"

"I thought you would be afraid of that; but it all did very well, for
the mother said I was so amusing, had so much natural wit, and they all
tried to persuade me I had said something clever."

"Well, go on--and what then?"

"And then the lady took me aside, and began saying so much in praise of
you; and when she once got me on that subject, I was ready and glib