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Here, my dear, I was interrupted last night by a dreadful thumping at my door: and who do you think it was?
Sir Pitt Crawley in his night-cap and dressing-gown, such a figure! As I shrank away from such a visitor, he came forward and seized my candle.

"No candles after eleven o'clock, Miss Becky," said he.

"Go to bed in the dark, you pretty little hussy" (that is what he called me), "and unless you wish me to come for the candle every night, mind and be in bed at eleven." And with this, he and Mr.Horrocks the butler went off laughing.

You may be sure I shall not encourage any more of their visits.