In the incense to her vanity, Afy nearly forgot her scruples. “Yes, he did,” she answered, casting a smile of general satisfaction round upon the court.
“And got out of you where you lived, and entered upon his courting, riding over nearly every evening to see you?”
“Well,” acknowledged Afy, “there was no harm in it.”
“Oh, certainly not!” acquiesced the lawyer, in a pleasant, free tone, to put the witness at her ease. “Rather good, I should say: I wish I had had the like luck. Did you know him at the time by the name of Levison?”
“No! He said he was Captain Thorn, and I thought he was.”
“Did you know where he lived?”
“No! He never said that. I thought he was stopping temporarily at Swainson.”
“And—dear me! what a sweet bonnet that is you have on!”
Afy, whose egregious vanity was her besetting sin—who possessed enough of it for any ten pretty women going—cast a glance out of the corners of her eyes at the admired bonnet, and became Mr. Ball’s entirely.
“And how long was it, after your first meeting with him, before you discovered his real name?”