“‘Yes,’ dearest aunt, ‘it is about Mary, and entirely about Mary.’
“‘Ah, dear me, I feared it long since; but then, John, consider she is very handsome—very much admired—and—’
“‘That makes it all the heavier, my dear aunt—the prouder her present position, the more severely will she feel the reverse.’
“‘Oh, but surely, John, your fears must exaggerate the danger.’
“‘Nothing of the kind—I have not words to tell you—’
“‘Oh dear, oh dear, don’t say so,’ said the old lady blushing, ‘for though I have often remarked a kind of gay flirting manner she has with men—I am sure she means nothing by it—she is so young—and so—’
“I stopped, stepped forward, and looking straight in my aunt’s face, broke out into a fit of laughter, that she, mistaking for hysterical from its violence, nearly fainted upon the spot.
“As soon as I could sufficiently recover gravity to explain to my aunt her mistake, I endeavoured to do so, but so ludicrous was the contre temps, and so ashamed the old lady for her gratuitous suspicions, that she would not listen to a word, and begged me to return to her hotel. Such an unexpected turn to my communication routed all my plans, and after a very awkward silence of some minutes on both sides, I mumbled something about our expensive habits of life, costly equipage, number of horses, &c., and hinted at the propriety of retrenchment.
“‘Mary rides beautifully,’ said my aunt, drily.’
“‘Yes, but my dear aunt, it was not exactly of that I was going to speak, for in fact—’