“I suppose you want it to turn up at some people,” replied Miss Fanny, smoothing her dress, and looking in the glass.  “Well, Aunt Dagon, who’ve you been lunching on?”

Aunt Dagon looked a little appalled.

“My dear, what do you mean?” she said, fanning herself violently.  “I hope I never say any thing that isn’t true about people.  I’m sure I should be very sorry to hurt any body’s feelings.  There’s Mrs. Kite—­you know, Joseph Kite’s wife, the man they said really did cheat his creditors, only none of ’em would swear to it; well, Kitty Kite, my dear, does do and say the most abominable things about people.  At the Shrimps’ ball, when you were waltzing with Mr. Dinks, I heard her say to Mrs. Orry, ’Do look at Fanny Newt hug that man!’ It was dreadful to hear her say such things, my dear; and then to see the whole room stare at you!  It was cruel—­it was really unfeeling.”

Fanny did not wince.  She merely said,

“How old is Mrs. Kite, Aunt Dagon?”

“Well, let me see; she’s about my age, I suppose.”

“Oh! well, Aunt, people at her time of life can’t see or hear much, you know.  They ought to be in their beds with hot bottles at their feet, and not obtrude themselves among people who are young enough to enjoy life with all their senses,” replied Miss Fanny, carelessly arranging a stray lock of hair.

“Indeed, Miss, you would like to shove all the married people into the wall, or into their graves,” retorted Mrs. Dagon, warmly.

“Oh no, dear Aunt, only into their beds—­and that not until they are superannuated, which, you know, old people never find out for themselves,” answered Fanny, smiling sweetly and calmly upon Mrs. Dagon.

“What a country it is, Aunt!” said Mrs. Newt, looking at Fanny with a kind of admiration.  “How the young people take every thing into their own hands!  Dear me! dear me! how they do rule us!”

Miss Newt made no observation, but took up a gayly-bound book from the table and looked carelessly into it.  Mrs. Dagon rose to go.  She had somewhat recovered her composure.

“Don’t think I believed it, dear,” said she to Fanny, in whom, perhaps, she recognized some of the family character.  “No, no—­not at all!  I said to every body in the room that I didn’t believe what Mrs. Kite said, that you were hugging Mr. Dinks in the waltz.  I believe I spoke to every body I knew, and they all said they didn’t believe it either.”

“How kind it was of you, dear Aunt Dagon!” said Fanny, as she rose to salute her departing relative, “and how generous people were not to believe it!  But I couldn’t persuade them that that beautiful lace-edging on your dress was real Mechlin, although I tried very hard.  They said it was natural in me to insist upon it, because I was your grand-niece; and it was no matter at all, because old ladies could do just as they pleased; but for all that it was not Mechlin.  I must have told as many as thirty people that they were wrong.  But people’s eyes are so sharp—­it’s really dreadful.  Good-morning, darling Aunt Dagon!”