"You are far too suspicious, aunt; I am sure you are."
"Perhaps I have had cause. At any rate, Margaretta, I have lived longer in, and seen much more of the world than you have, and I ought to have a clearer perception of character. For your own sake, then, try and confide in my judgment."
"I ought to confide in your judgment, aunt, I know; but I cannot see as you do in this particular instance."
"Then you ought rather to suspect the correctness of your own observation, when it leads to conclusions so utterly opposed to mine."
To this Margaretta did not reply. It seemed too much like giving up her own rationality to assent to it, and she did not wish to pain her aunt by objections.
On the next evening, a quiet, intelligent, and modest-looking young man called in, and spent an hour or two with Margaretta and her aunt. He did not present so imposing and showy an exterior as did Mr. Smith, but his conversation had in it far more substance and real common sense. After he had retired, Margaretta said—
"Well, it is no use; I cannot take any pleasure in the society of Thomas Fielding."
"Why not, my dear?" asked the aunt.
"Oh, I don't know; but he is so dull and prosy."
"I am sure he don't seem dull to me, Margaretta. He doesn't talk a great deal, it is true; but, then, what he does say is characterized by good sense, and evinces a discriminating mind."