“It is my heart,” I observed. “The fracture is your making; the pin—”
Here Miss Dolly interrupted; to tell the truth I was not sorry, for I was fairly graveled for the meaning of the pin.
“What nonsense, Mr. Carter!” she said; “but it’s awfully pretty. Thanks so very very much. Aren’t relations funny people?”
“If you wish to change the subject, pray do,” said I. “I’ll change anything except my affections.”
“Look here,” she pursued, holding out a bundle of letters. “Here are the congratulatory epistles from relations. Shall I read you a few?”
“It will be a most agreeable mode of passing the time,” said I.
“This is from Aunt Georgiana—she’s a widow—lives at Cheltenham. ‘My dearest Dorothea—‘”
“Who?”
“Dorothea’s my name, Mr. Carter. It means the gift of heaven, you know.”
“‘My dearest Dorothea, I have heard the news of your engagement to Lord Mickleham with deep thankfulness. To obtain the love of an honest man is a great prize. I hope you will prove worthy of it. Marriage is a trial and an opportunity—‘”