“Yes, indeed, it is an outrage upon all our feelings.  We must, of course, be mutually shocked at the indiscretion of these members of both our families.”

“Yes, oh yes!” answered Mrs. Newt.  “I do declare! what do people do so for?”

Neither cared to take the next step, and make the obvious and necessary inquiries as to the future, for neither wished to betray the thought that was uppermost.  At length Mrs. Dinks ventured to say,

“One thing, at least, is fortunate.”

“Indeed!” ejaculated Mrs. Dagon behind the glasses, as if she scoffed at the bare suggestion of any thing but utter misfortune being associated with such an affair.

“I say one thing is fortunate,” continued Mrs. Dinks, in a more decided tone, and without the slightest attention to Mrs. Dagon’s remark.

“Dear me!  I declare I don’t see just what you mean, Mrs. Dinks,” said Mrs. Newt.

“I mean that they are neither of them children,” answered the other.

“They may not be children,” commenced Mrs. Dagon, in the most implacable tone, “but they are both fools.  I shouldn’t wonder, Nancy, if they’d both outwitted each other, after all; for whenever two people, without the slightest apparent reason, run away to be married, it is because one of them is poor.”

This was a truth of which the two mothers were both vaguely conscious, and which by no means increased the comfort of the situation.  It led to a long pause in the conversation.  Mrs. Dinks wished Aunt Dagon on the top of Mont Blanc, and while she was meditating the best thing to say, Mrs. Dagon, who had rallied, returned to the charge.

“Of course,” said she, “that is something that would hardly be said of the daughter of Boniface Newt.”

And Mrs. Dagon resumed the study of Mrs. Dinks.

“Or of the grand-nephew of Christopher Burt,” said the latter, putting up her own glasses and returning the stare.

“Grand-nephew!  Is Alfred Dinks not the grandson of Mr. Burt?” asked Mrs. Newt, earnestly.

“No, he is his grand-nephew.  I am the niece of Mr. Burt—­daughter of his brother Jonathan, deceased,” replied Mrs. Dinks.

“Oh!” said Mrs. Newt, dolefully.

“Not a very near relation,” added Mrs. Dagon.  “Grand-nephews don’t count.”

That might be true, but it was thin consolation for Mrs. Newt, who began to take fire.

“But, Mrs. Dinks, how did this affair come about?” asked she.

“Exactly,” chimed in Aunt Dagon; “how did it come about?”

“My dear Mrs. Newt,” replied Mrs. Dinks, entirely overlooking the existence of Mrs. Dagon, “you know my son Alfred and your daughter Fanny.  So do I. Do you believe that Alfred ran away with Fanny, or Fanny with Alfred.  Theoretically, of course, the man does it.  Do you believe Alfred did it?”

Mrs. Dinks’s tone was resolute.  Mrs. Newt was on the verge of hysterics.

“Do you mean to insult my daughter to her mother’s face?” exclaimed she.  “O you mean to insinuate that—­”