My aunt, I should explain, is nothing if not dignified. She is built on the lines of a monitor, bluff in the bow, broad in the beam, slow and majestic of movement. Her lips were moving feebly when I saw her, but she uttered no sound, uncertain, I suppose, whether to intervene or to pretend that I was in no way connected with her.
Paralysed by her arrival, I saw her slowly take in the scene. Her eye wandered from the policeman to me, from me to the unfortunate girl to whom I still clung. I could see her jumping—no, moving ponderously—towards the wrong conclusion.
Mr. Punch, what would you have done?
Yours faithfully, An N.O.
[Your first thought should have been for the girl, whom you had clearly compromised in your aunt's eyes. You should at once have introduced her to that lady as your long-lost fiancée. Later in the afternoon you could have called on your relative and told her that you had mislaid the girl again—this time irretrievably.—Ed.]
THE FOLLY OF ATHENS.
Athena (to her Owl). "SAY 'TINO'!"