But we have wasted more words on the fair Eloise’s follies than they deserve. Let us return to Harriet’s all-important composition.
The maiden-lady, selfish and indolent as she was, took it into her head sometimes to be exceedingly inquisitive; and officious too, particularly where she thought her literary talents could come into play. She walked up to Harriet and looked over her shoulder.
“What’s this, hey? oh! a story! That’s right, Harriet, I am glad to see you taking to literary pursuits. Come, child! give me the pen and I will improve that sentence for you.”
“Thank you, aunt! but I don’t want it improved.”
“Not want it improved! There’s vanity!”
“Indeed, aunt, I am not vain about it, and I would like you to help me, if it were not to be shown as mine. It wouldn’t be fair, you know, to pass off another’s as my own. I am writing for a prize.”
“For a prize! So much the more reason that you should be assisted. There, dear, run away to your play and I will write it all for you. You’ll be sure to win the prize.”
With every word thus uttered, Harriet’s eyes had grown larger and darker, and at the close, she turned them, full of astonishment, from her aunt’s face to her mother’s. Reassured by the expression of the latter, she replied,
“But, Aunt Eloise, that would be a falsehood, you know.”
“A falsehood, miss!” cried the maiden, sharply, “It is a very common thing, I assure you!”