“Why, aunt!”

“My question seems, no doubt, a strange one, Fanny.  Yet, strange as it may appear to you, it is far from being lightly made.  Calm your mind into reflection, and ask yourself, firmly and seriously, why you love Edward Allen.  True love ever has an appreciating regard for moral excellence—­and knowledge must precede appreciation.  What do you know of the moral wisdom of this young man, into whose hands you are about placing the destinies of your being for time—­it may be for eternity?  Again let me put the question—­Why do you love Edward Allen?”

Fanny looked bewildered.  No searching interrogations like these had been addressed to her, even by her parents; and their effect was to throw her whole mind into painful confusion.

“I love him for his excellent qualities, and because he loves me,” she at length said, yet with a kind of uncertain manner, as if the reply did not spring from a clear mental perception.

“What do you mean by excellent qualities?” further inquired Mrs. Waring.

Tears came into Fanny’s sweet blue eyes, as she answered—­

“A young girl like me, dear Aunt Mary, cannot penetrate very deeply into a man’s character.  We have neither the opportunity nor the experience upon which, coldly, to base an accurate judgment.  The heart is our guide.  In my own case its instincts, I am sure, have not betrayed me into a false estimate of my lover.  I know him to be good and noble; and I am sure his tender regard for the maiden he has asked to become his bride, will ever lead him to seek her happiness, as she will seek his.  Do not doubt him, aunt.”

Yet, Mrs. Waring could not help doubting him.  The young man had not impressed her favourably.  No word had fallen from his lips during the evening unmarked by her—­nor had a single act escaped observation.  In vain had she looked, in his declarations of sentiments, for high moral purposes—­for something elevated and manly in tone.  In their place she found only exceeding worldliness, or the flippant commonplace.

“No basis there, I fear, on which to build,” said Mrs. Waring, thoughtfully, after parting with her niece for the night.  “Dear, loving, confiding child!  The heart of a maiden is not always her best guide.  Like the conscience, it needs to be instructed; must be furnished with tests of quality.”

On the day following, Mrs. Waring went out alone.  Without, seeming to have any purpose in her mind, she had asked the number of Mr. Allen’s store, whither she went with the design of making a few purchases.  As she had hoped it would be, the young man did not recognise her as the aunt of his betrothed.  Among the articles, she wished to obtain was a silk dress.  Several pieces of goods were shown to her, one of which suited exactly, both in colour and quality.

“What is the price of this?” she asked.

The answer was not prompt.  First, the ticket-mark was consulted; then came a thoughtful pause; and then the young storekeeper said—­