The cloth being drawn, and some sherry put upon the table (of which I had a glass), my aunt sent up for Mr. Dick again, who joined us, and looked as wise as he could when she requested him to attend to my story, which she elicited from me, gradually, by a course of questions. During my recital, she kept her eyes on Mr. Dick, who I thought would have gone to sleep but for that, and who, whensoever he lapsed into a smile, was checked by a frown from my aunt.

“Whatever possessed that poor unfortunate Baby, that she must go and be married again,” said my aunt, when I had finished, “ I can’t conceive.”

“Perhaps she fell in love with her second husband,” Mr. Dick suggested.

“Fell in love!” repeated my aunt. “What do you mean? What business had she to do it?”