“He looks that kind of young man,” assented Miss Burden. “His eyes are so open and fearless.”
As soon as Aunt Caroline was visible, which was not until noon, she was put in possession of the facts.
“Who, pray, is Jim Lascelles?” was her first inquiry; and the tone of it was not wholly sympathetic.
“He used to live at the Red House at Widdiford,” chimed both her nieces as one.
In spite of his heroism, which no amount of cross-examination could mitigate, a few leading questions which Elizabeth was called upon to answer had the effect of rendering Aunt Caroline decidedly hostile to Jim Lascelles. For the identity of the presumptuous young man was only too soon established. He was the person who had had the impertinence to fling himself out of the house in Hill Street when he had been rebuked in a becoming manner for conduct which was really unpardonable. As for the “Jim,” it literally stuck in Aunt Caroline’s throat.
It was almost the only reminder that their august relation had had, beyond the scanty character of their wardrobes and their plebeian devotion to bread and jam, that their upbringing had been that of Tom, Dick, and Harry.
“Elizabeth,” said Aunt Caroline, “it would be more seemly to my mind if you have occasion to mention Mr. Lascelles to speak of him as such.”
Muffin opened solemn and round eyes of wonder upon Aunt Caroline.
“Oh, but,” said she, “if I called Jim Mr. Lascelles he would pull my hair.”
“In that case,” said Aunt Caroline, “you would do well to terminate the acquaintance.”