‘Mr. Jingle,’ said the spinster aunt, ‘if you come here, Sir, to insult me—’
‘Not at all—by no means,’ replied the unabashed Mr. Jingle—‘overheard the tale—came to warn you of your danger—tender my services—prevent the hubbub. Never mind—think it an insult—leave the room’—and he turned, as if to carry the threat into execution.
‘What shall I do!’ said the poor spinster, bursting into tears. ‘My brother will be furious.’
‘Of course he will,’ said Mr. Jingle pausing—‘outrageous.’
Oh, Mr. Jingle, what can I say!’ exclaimed the spinster aunt, in another flood of despair.
‘Say he dreamt it,’ replied Mr. Jingle coolly.
A ray of comfort darted across the mind of the spinster aunt at this suggestion. Mr. Jingle perceived it, and followed up his advantage.
‘Pooh, pooh!—nothing more easy—blackguard boy—lovely woman—fat boy horsewhipped—you believed—end of the matter—all comfortable.’
Whether the probability of escaping from the consequences of this ill-timed discovery was delightful to the spinster’s feelings, or whether the hearing herself described as a ‘lovely woman’ softened the asperity of her grief, we know not. She blushed slightly, and cast a grateful look on Mr. Jingle.
That insinuating gentleman sighed deeply, fixed his eyes on the spinster aunt’s face for a couple of minutes, started melodramatically, and suddenly withdrew them.