“Oh, Aunt Virginia!” cried the boy. “That's the last thing you can say of any one! I wish you knew her.”
“Knew whom, Stephen?”
“Well, Mrs. Benson, and Miss Benson—Marian—she's the prettiest girl in town.”
“Has Mr. Benson permitted you to form an attachment of which I knew nothing? Did he take you to the house of those people for that?”
“Those people!” scoffed the boy. “I wish you would be a little more generous, Aunt Virginia! It's unfair to judge her like that; and Mr. Benson don't know anything about it anyhow!”
“What do you wish me to think, Stephen; for I suppose I am to take this as a confession of some sort.”
“I've known them—I've known Marian, for four or five years,” muttered the boy sheepishly.
“Well, what of that?” with some displeasure.
“You don't approve?” he asked gloomily.
“No—if you wish me to understand that you have committed yourself, I don't approve. There is every reason why I should not.”