'I am not surprised at that,' said Nicholas; 'she must be quite a
natural genius.'

'Quite a--!' Mr Crummles stopped: language was not powerful enough to
describe the infant phenomenon. 'I'll tell you what, sir,' he said;
'the talent of this child is not to be imagined. She must be seen,
sir--seen--to be ever so faintly appreciated. There; go to your mother,
my dear.'

'May I ask how old she is?' inquired Nicholas.

'You may, sir,' replied Mr Crummles, looking steadily in his
questioner's face, as some men do when they have doubts about being
implicitly believed in what they are going to say. 'She is ten years of
age, sir.'

'Not more!'

'Not a day.'

'Dear me!' said Nicholas, 'it's extraordinary.'

It was; for the infant phenomenon, though of short stature, had a
comparatively aged countenance, and had moreover been precisely the
same age--not perhaps to the full extent of the memory of the oldest
inhabitant, but certainly for five good years. But she had been kept up
late every night, and put upon an unlimited allowance of gin-and-water
from infancy, to prevent her growing tall, and perhaps this system
of training had produced in the infant phenomenon these additional
phenomena.