"No, thank you," replied my visitors. "Good morning!"
And they retired, leaving me so overcome with shame, mortification, confusion, and distress, that I burst into tears.
"To think that I should have done such a thing!" was my first remark, so soon as I had a little recovered my self-possession; and I looked up, half timidly, into the face of my niece. I shall not soon forget the expression of surprise and pain that was in her fair young countenance. I had uttered a falsehood in her presence, and thus done violence to the good opinion she had formed of me. The beautiful ideal of her aunt, which had filled her mind, was blurred over; and her heart was sad in consequence.
"Dear Aggy!" said I, throwing my work upon the floor, and bending earnestly towards her.—"Don't think too meanly of me for this little circumstance. I never was guilty of that thing before—never! And well have I been punished for my thoughtless folly I spoke from impulse, and not reflection, when I told Mary to say that I was not at home, and repented of what I had done almost as soon as the words passed my lips."
Agnes looked at me for some moments, until her eyes filled with tears. Then she said in a low, sweet, earnest voice:
"Mother always says, if she cannot see any one who calls, that she is engaged."
"And so do I, dear," I returned. "This is my first offence against truth, and you may be sure that it will be the last."
And it was my last.
When next I met Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Glenn, there was, in both of them, a reserve not seen before. I felt this change keenly. I had wronged myself in their good opinion; and could not venture upon an explanation of my conduct; for that, I felt, might only make matters worse.
How often, since, has my cheek burned, as a vivid recollection came up before my mind of what occurred on that morning! I can never forget it.