a very clever fellow. What droll songs he used to sing! What a heap of
play-tickets, diorama-tickets, concert-tickets, he used to give you! Did
he touch your heart, Julia?

JULIA.--Fiddlededee! No man ever touched my heart, Captain Touchit.

TOUCHIT.--What! not even Tom Flight, who had the second floor after the
Editor left it--and who cried so bitterly at the idea of going out to
India without you? You had a tendre for him--a little passion--you know
you had. Why, even the ladies here know it. Mrs. Bonnington told me that
you were waiting for a sweetheart in India to whom you were engaged; and
Lady Kicklebury thinks you are dying in love for the absent swain.

JULIA.--I hope--I hope--you did not contradict them, Captain Touchit.

TOUCHIT.--Why not, my dear?

JULIA.--May I be frank with you? You were a kind, very kind friend to
us--to me, in my youth.

TOUCHIT.--I paid my lodgings regularly, and my bills without asking
questions. I never weighed the tea in the caddy, or counted the lumps of
sugar, or heeded the rapid consumption of my liqueur--

JULIA.--Hush, hush! I know they were taken. I know you were very good to
us. You helped my poor papa out of many a difficulty.

TOUCHIT [aside].--Tipsy old coal-merchant! I did, and he helped himself
too.