“Her father would not agree with you,” replied Dorothy.

“Perhaps not,” responded the aunt.  “Her father’s conduct causes me great pain and grief.”

“It also causes me pain,” said Dorothy, sighing.

“But, Malcolm,” continued the old lady, putting down her book and turning with quickened interest toward my other self, “who, suppose you, is the man with whom Dorothy has become so strangely entangled?”

“I cannot tell for the life of me,” answered Malcolm No. 2.  “Surely a modest girl would not act as she does.”

“Surely a modest girl would,” replied Aunt Dorothy, testily.  “Malcolm, you know nothing of women.”

“Spoken with truth,” thought I.

The old lady continued:  “Modesty and love have nothing whatever to do with each other.  When love comes in at the door, modesty flies out at the window.  I do pity my niece with all my heart, and in good truth I wish I could help her, though of course I would not have her know my feeling.  I feign severity toward her, but I do not hesitate to tell you that I am greatly interested in her romance.  She surely is deeply in love.”

“That is a true word, Aunt Dorothy,” said the lovelorn young woman.  “I am sure she is fathoms deep in love.”

“Nothing,” said Lady Crawford, “but a great passion would have impelled her to act as she did.  Why, even Mary of Burgundy, with all her modesty, won the husband she wanted, ay, and had him at the cost of half her rich domain.”

“I wonder if Dorothy will ever have the man she wants?” said Malcolm, sighing in a manner entirely new to him.

“No,” answered the old lady, “I fear there is no hope for Dorothy.  I wonder who he is?  Her father intends that she shall soon marry Lord Stanley.  Sir George told me as much this morning when he started for Derby-town to arrange for the signing of the marriage contract within a day or two.  He had a talk yesterday with Dorothy.  She, I believe, has surrendered to the inevitable, and again there is good feeling between her and my brother.”

Dorothy tossed her head expressively.

“It is a good match,” continued Lady Crawford, “a good match, Malcolm.  I pity Dorothy; but it is my duty to guard her, and I shall do it faithfully.”

“My dear Lady Crawford,” said my hat and cloak, “your words and feelings do great credit to your heart.  But have you ever thought that your niece is a very wilful girl, and that she is full of disturbing expedients?  Now I am willing to wager my beard that she will, sooner than you suspect, see her lover.  And I am also willing to lay a wager that she will marry the man of her choice despite all the watchfulness of her father and yourself.  Keep close guard over her, my lady, or she will escape.”