‘Oh, don’t talk to me about poor,’ returned my aunt. ‘She should have thought of that, before she caused so much misery! Give me a kiss, Trot. I am sorry for your early experience.’
As I bent forward, she put her tumbler on my knee to detain me, and said:
‘Oh, Trot, Trot! And so you fancy yourself in love! Do you?’
‘Fancy, aunt!’ I exclaimed, as red as I could be. ‘I adore her with my whole soul!’
‘Dora, indeed!’ returned my aunt. ‘And you mean to say the little thing is very fascinating, I suppose?’
‘My dear aunt,’ I replied, ‘no one can form the least idea what she is!’
‘Ah! And not silly?’ said my aunt.
‘Silly, aunt!’
I seriously believe it had never once entered my head for a single moment, to consider whether she was or not. I resented the idea, of course; but I was in a manner struck by it, as a new one altogether.
‘Not light-headed?’ said my aunt.