“I did not come here with that intention,” she answered, “but if my company is likely to be of use to my aunt, it is my duty to stop.”
“Yes, for me as well as for my aunt. My spirits want cheering up. You don’t consider them.”
“Nonsense! you are happy enough.”
“At this moment; but leave us, and then see where my spirits will be.”
Here universal darkness covers all, and nothing survives of the rest of that walk and talk but the memory of the little blush, the smile, the wise shake of the head, and the expressive silence that followed my observation.
We had been chatting with my aunt (whom we found in the drawing-room) for some twenty minutes, when my uncles entered.
Dick went up to his sister-in-law and exclaimed:
“You’re all anxiety to hear how Conny is, aren’t you? My dear, she is very well, very happy, and sent you her love. Are you aware that you are committing a dreadful mistake in abusing her husband? I can assure you I never wish to meet with a smarter-minded man. Why, I had made up my mind to be introduced to some coarse, country bumpkin; instead of which, Teazer,” addressing his daughter, “I was received by a gentlemanly youth with fine intelligent eyes, and very modest manners, who detained me for ten minutes with as shrewd a piece of reasoning on our commercial relations with Austria as ever I could wish to read in a newspaper.”
“It is true,” said uncle Tom, looking round him, with a broad smile, and addressing everybody. “Dick has taken a great fancy to the young fellow—and give me Dick’s opinion before anybody’s.”
“I don’t care a fig about his ideas of Austria,” cried my aunt, hotly. “I only feel that to my dying day I shall deplore the marriage as a heavy disgrace.”