expressing his hope that I had not been greatly alarmed or had my rest violently broken, I believe I might never have heard of that disgraceful transaction,” said the old lady.
“To be candid, Ma, I think I should have kept it from you if I could: though I had not decidedly made up my mind. I was following Jasper out, to confer with him on the subject, and to consider the expediency of his and my jointly hushing the thing up on all accounts, when I found him speaking to you. Then it was too late.”
“Too late, indeed, Sept. He was still as pale as gentlemanly ashes at what had taken place in his rooms overnight.”
“If I had kept it from you, Ma, you may be sure it would have been for your peace and quiet, and for the good of the young men, and in my best discharge of my duty according to my lights.”
The old lady immediately walked across the room and kissed him; saying, “Of course, my dear Sept, I am sure of that.”
“However, it became the town-talk,” said Mr. Crisparkle, rubbing his ear, as his mother resumed her seat, and her knitting, “and passed out of my power.”
“And I said then, Sept,” returned the old lady, “that I thought ill of Mr. Neville. And I say now, that I think ill of Mr. Neville. And I said then, and I say now, that I hope Mr. Neville may come to good, but I don’t believe he will.” Here the cap vibrated again, considerably.
“I am sorry to hear you say so, Ma—”
“I am sorry to say so, my dear,” interposed the old lady, knitting on firmly, “but I can’t help it.”
“—For,” pursued the Minor Canon, “it is undeniable that Mr. Neville is exceedingly industrious and attentive, and that he improves