Aunt Dagon looked a little appalled.

"My dear, what do you mean?" she said, fanning herself violently. "I hope I never say any thing that isn't true about people. I'm sure I should be very sorry to hurt any body's feelings. There's Mrs. Kite--you know, Joseph Kite's wife, the man they said really did cheat his creditors, only none of 'em would swear to it; well, Kitty Kite, my dear, does do and say the most abominable things about people. At the Shrimps' ball, when you were waltzing with Mr. Dinks, I heard her say to Mrs. Orry, 'Do look at Fanny Newt hug that man!' It was dreadful to hear her say such things, my dear; and then to see the whole room stare at you! It was cruel--it was really unfeeling."

Fanny did not wince. She merely said,

"How old is Mrs. Kite, Aunt Dagon?"

"Well, let me see; she's about my age, I suppose."

"Oh! well, Aunt, people at her time of life can't see or hear much, you know. They ought to be in their beds with hot bottles at their feet, and not obtrude themselves among people who are young enough to enjoy life with all their senses," replied Miss Fanny, carelessly arranging a stray lock of hair.

"Indeed, Miss, you would like to shove all the married people into the wall, or into their graves," retorted Mrs. Dagon, warmly.

"Oh no, dear Aunt, only into their beds--and that not until they are superannuated, which, you know, old people never find out for themselves," answered Fanny, smiling sweetly and calmly upon Mrs. Dagon.

"What a country it is, Aunt!" said Mrs. Newt, looking at Fanny with a kind of admiration. "How the young people take every thing into their own hands! Dear me! dear me! how they do rule us!"

Miss Newt made no observation, but took up a gayly-bound book from the table and looked carelessly into it. Mrs. Dagon rose to go. She had somewhat recovered her composure.

"Don't think I believed it, dear," said she to Fanny, in whom, perhaps, she recognized some of the family character. "No, no--not at all! I said to every body in the room that I didn't believe what Mrs. Kite said, that you were hugging Mr. Dinks in the waltz. I believe I spoke to every body I knew, and they all said they didn't believe it either."

"How kind it was of you, dear Aunt Dagon!" said Fanny, as she rose to salute her departing relative, "and how generous people were not to believe it! But I couldn't persuade them that that beautiful lace-edging on your dress was real Mechlin, although I tried very hard. They said it was natural in me to insist upon it, because I was your grand-niece; and it was no matter at all, because old ladies could do just as they pleased; but for all that it was not Mechlin. I must have told as many as thirty people that they were wrong. But people's eyes are so sharp--it's really dreadful. Good-morning, darling Aunt Dagon!"

"Fanny dear," said her mother, as the door closed upon Mrs. Dagon, who departed speechless and in what may be called a simmering state of mind, "Abel will be here in a day or two. I really hope to hear something about this Miss Wayne. Do you suppose Alfred Dinks is actually engaged to her?"

"How should I know, mother?"

"Why, my dear, you have been so intimate with him."

"My dear mother, how _can_ any body be intimate with Alfred Dinks? You might as well talk of breathing in a vacuum."

"But, Fanny, he is a very good sort of young man--so respectable, and with such good manners, and he has a very pretty fortune--"

Mrs. Newt was interrupted by the servant, who announced Mr. Wetherley.

Poor Mr. Zephyr Wetherley! He was one of the rank and file of society--one of the privates, so to speak, who are mentioned in a mass after a ball, as common soldiers are mentioned after a battle. He entered the room and bowed. Mrs. Newt seeing that it was one of her daughter's visitors, left the room. Miss Fanny sat looking at the young man with her black eyes so calmly that she seemed to him to be sitting a great way off in a cool darkness. Miss Fanny was not fond of Mr. Wetherley, although she had seen plainly enough the indications of his feeling for her. This morning he was well gloved and booted. His costume was unexceptionable.

Society of that day boasted few better-dressed men than Zephyr Wetherley.

His judgment in a case of cravat was unerring. He had been in Europe, and was quoted when waistcoats were in debate. He had been very attentive to Mr. Alfred Dinks and Mr. Bowdoin Beacon, the two Boston youths who had been charming society during the season that was now over. He was even a little jealous of Mr. Dinks.

After Mrs. Newt had left the room Mr. Wetherley fell into confusion. He immediately embarked, of course, upon the weather; while Fanny, taking up a book, looked casually into it with a slight air of _ennui_.

"Have you read this?" said she to Mr. Wetherley.

"No, I suppose not; eh! what is it?" replied Zephyr, who was not a reading man.

"It is John Meal's 'Rachel Dyer.'"

"Oh, indeed! No, indeed. I have not read it!"

"What have you read, Mr. Wetherley?" inquired Fanny, glancing through the book which she held in her hand.

"Oh, indeed!--" he began. Then he seemed to undergo some internal spasm.

He dropped his hat, slid his chair to the side of Fanny's, and said, "Ah, Miss Newt, how can you ask me at such a moment?"

Miss Fanny looked at him with a perfectly unruffled face.

"Why not at this moment, Mr. Wetherley?"

"Ah, Miss Newt, how can you when you know my feelings? Did you not carry my bouquet at the theatre last evening? Have you not long authorized me by your treatment to declare--"

"Stop, Mr. Wetherley," said Fanny, calmly. "The day is warm--let us be cool. Don't say any thing which you will regret to remember. Don't mistake any thing that I have done as an indication of--"

"Oh, Miss Newt," interrupted Zephyr, "how can you say such things? Hear me but one word. I assure you that I most deeply, tenderly, truly--"

"Mr. Wetherley," said Fanny, putting down the book and speaking very firmly, "I really can not sit still and hear you proceed. You are laboring under a great misapprehension. You must be aware that I have never in the slightest way given you occasion to believe that I--"

"I must speak!" burst in the impetuous Zephyr. "My feelings forbid silence! Great Heavens! Miss Newt, you really have no idea--I am sure you have no idea--you can not have any idea of the ardor with which for a long, long time I have--"

"Mr. Wetherley," said Fanny Newt, darker and cooler than ever, "it is useless to prolong this conversation. I can not consent to hear you declare that--"

"But you haven't heard me declare it," replied Zephyr, vehemently. "It's the very thing I am trying to do, and you won't let me. You keep cutting me off just as I am saying how I--"

"You need go no further, Sir," said Miss Newt, coldly, rising and standing by the table; while Zephyr Wetherley, red and hot and confused, crushed his handkerchief into a ball, and swept his hand through his hair, wagging his foot, and rubbing his fingers together. "I understand, Sir, what you wish to say, and I desire to tell you only--"

"Just what I don't want to hear! Oh dear me! Please, please, Miss Newt!"

entreated Zephyr Wetherley.

"Mr. Wetherley," interrupted the other, imperiously, "you wish to ask me to marry you. I desire to spare you the pain of my answer to that question by preventing your asking it."

Mr. Wetherley was confounded. He wrinkled his brows doubtfully a moment--he stared at the floor and at Miss Newt--he looked foolish and mortified. "But--but--but--" stammered he. "Well--but--why--but--haven't you somehow answered the question?" inquired he, with gleams of doubtful intelligence shooting across his face.

Fanny Newt smiled icily.

"As you please," said she.

Poor Zephyr was bewildered.

"It is very confusing, somehow, Miss Newt, isn't it?" said he, wiping his face.

"Yes, Mr. Wetherley; one should always look before he leaps."

"Yes, yes; oh, indeed, yes. A man had better look out, or--"

"Or he'll catch a Tartar!" said a clear, strange voice.

Fanny Newt and Wetherley turned simultaneously toward the speaker. It was a young man, with clustering black hair and sparkling eyes, in a traveling dress. He stood in the back room, which he had entered through the conservatory.

"Abel!" said his sister, running toward him, and pulling him forward.