“I never thought of that,” said Fanny simply, the colour coming in a fresh glow.

“No, my dear, but you see you are very young and inexperienced.  I do not say you have done anything the least amiss, or that you ever would mean it, only you will forgive your old aunt for putting you on your guard.”

Fanny kissed her, but with eyes full of tears, and cheeks burning, then her candour drew from her—­“It was he that thought of getting a lodging.  I am glad I did not persuade him not; but you know he always did live with us.”

“With us.  Yes, my poor dear, that is the difference, and you see he feels it.  But, indeed, my dear child, though he is a very good man, I dare say, and quite a gentleman all but his beard, you had better not encourage—­ You know people are so apt to make remarks.”

“I have no fear,” said Fanny, turning away her head, conscious of the impossibility of showing her aunt her mistake.

“Ah! my dear, you don’t guess how ready people are to talk; and you would not like—­for your children’s sake, for your husband’s sake—­ that—­that—­”

“Pray, pray aunt,” cried Fanny, much pained, “indeed you don’t know.  My husband had confidence in him more than in any one.  He told him to take care of me and look after the boys.  I couldn’t hold aloof from him without transgressing those wishes”—­and the words were lost in a sob.

“My dear, indeed I did not mean to distress you.  You know, I dare say—­I mean—­” hesitated poor Mrs. Curtis.  “I know you must see a great deal of him.  I only want you to take care—­appearances are appearances, and if it was said you had all these young officers always coming about—­”

“I don’t think they will come.  It was only just to call, and they have known me so long.  It is all out of respect to my father and Sir Stephen,” said Fanny, meekly as ever.  “Indeed, I would not for the world do anything you did not like, dear aunt; but there can’t be any objection to my having Mrs. Hammond and the children to spend the day to-morrow.”

Mrs. Curtis did not like it; she had an idea that all military ladies were dashing and vulgar, but she could not say there was any objection, so she went on to the head of poor Fanny’s offending.  “This young man, my dear, he seems to make himself very intimate.”

“Alick Keith?  Oh aunt!” said Fanny, more surprised than by all the rest; “don’t you know about him?  His father and mother were our greatest friends always; I used to play with him every day till I came to you.  And then just as I married, poor Mrs. Keith died, and we had dear little Bessie with us till her father could send her home.  And when poor Alick was so dreadfully wounded before Delhi, Sir Stephen sent him up in a litter to the hills for mamma and me to nurse.  Mamma was so fond of him, she used to call him her son.”

“Yes, my dear, I dare say you have been very intimate; but you see you are very young; and his staying here—­”