At that point I suddenly remembered Dick's date, and stopped short
rather confused. The eager weaver didn't notice my confusion, but
said hastily, as if he were almost aware of his breach of good
manners, "But, I say, how old are you?"

Dick and the pretty girl both burst out laughing, as if Robert's
conduct were excusable on the grounds of eccentricity; and Dick said
amidst his laughter:

"Hold hard, Bob; this questioning of guests won't do. Why, much
learning is spoiling you. You remind me of the radical cobblers in
the silly old novels, who, according to the authors, were prepared to
trample down all good manners in the pursuit of utilitarian
knowledge. The fact is, I begin to think that you have so muddled
your head with mathematics, and with grubbing into those idiotic old
books about political economy (he he!), that you scarcely know how to
behave. Really, it is about time for you to take to some open-air
work, so that you may clear away the cobwebs from your brain."

The weaver only laughed good-humouredly; and the girl went up to him
and patted his cheek and said laughingly, "Poor fellow! he was born
so."

As for me, I was a little puzzled, but I laughed also, partly for
company's sake, and partly with pleasure at their unanxious happiness
and good temper; and before Robert could make the excuse to me which
he was getting ready, I said:

"But neighbours" (I had caught up that word), "I don't in the least