“I was not speaking in a religious sense, Harriet.  I spoke as a mother.”

“Selina, I am sure you have never heard me say anything against a niece of mine marrying your son.”

“Oh, it is pride in Miss Vincy—­I am sure it is nothing else,” said Mrs. Plymdale, who had never before given all her confidence to “Harriet” on this subject.  “No young man in Middlemarch was good enough for her:  I have heard her mother say as much.  That is not a Christian spirit, I think.  But now, from all I hear, she has found a man as proud as herself.”

“You don’t mean that there is anything between Rosamond and Mr. Lydgate?” said Mrs. Bulstrode, rather mortified at finding out her own ignorance.

“Is it possible you don’t know, Harriet?”

“Oh, I go about so little; and I am not fond of gossip; I really never hear any.  You see so many people that I don’t see.  Your circle is rather different from ours.”

“Well, but your own niece and Mr. Bulstrode’s great favorite—­ and yours too, I am sure, Harriet!  I thought, at one time, you meant him for Kate, when she is a little older.”

“I don’t believe there can be anything serious at present,” said Mrs. Bulstrode.  “My brother would certainly have told me.”

“Well, people have different ways, but I understand that nobody can see Miss Vincy and Mr. Lydgate together without taking them to be engaged.  However, it is not my business.  Shall I put up the pattern of mittens?”

After this Mrs. Bulstrode drove to her niece with a mind newly weighted.  She was herself handsomely dressed, but she noticed with a little more regret than usual that Rosamond, who was just come in and met her in walking-dress, was almost as expensively equipped.  Mrs. Bulstrode was a feminine smaller edition of her brother, and had none of her husband’s low-toned pallor.  She had a good honest glance and used no circumlocution.

“You are alone, I see, my dear,” she said, as they entered the drawing-room together, looking round gravely.  Rosamond felt sure that her aunt had something particular to say, and they sat down near each other.  Nevertheless, the quilling inside Rosamond’s bonnet was so charming that it was impossible not to desire the same kind of thing for Kate, and Mrs. Bulstrode’s eyes, which were rather fine, rolled round that ample quilled circuit, while she spoke.

“I have just heard something about you that has surprised me very much, Rosamond.”

“What is that, aunt?” Rosamond’s eyes also were roaming over her aunt’s large embroidered collar.

“I can hardly believe it—­that you should be engaged without my knowing it—­without your father’s telling me.”  Here Mrs. Bulstrode’s eyes finally rested on Rosamond’s, who blushed deeply, and said—­

“I am not engaged, aunt.”

“How is it that every one says so, then—­that it is the town’s talk?”

“The town’s talk is of very little consequence, I think,” said Rosamond, inwardly gratified.