“For what can you sell goods of a similar quality?” was the direct question of Fanny.

The moment Allen saw the piece of silk, he recognised it as the same he had sold in the morning.  Turning quickly, and with a flushing countenance, to that part of the room where Mrs. Waring sat, partly in the shadow, he became at once conscious of the fact that she was the purchaser.  The eyes of Fanny followed those of the lover, and then came back to his face.  She saw the o’ermantling blush; the sudden loss of self-possession, the quailing of his glance beneath the fixed look of Mrs. Waring.  At once the whole truth flashed upon her mind, and starting up, she said, in a blended voice of grief and indignation—­

“Surely, surely, Edward, you are not the man!”

Before Allen could reply, Mrs. Waring said firmly:  “Yes, it is too true.  He is the man!”

At this, Fanny grew deadly pale, staggered toward her mother, and sunk, sobbing wildly, upon her bosom.

Too much excited and confused for coherent explanation, and too clearly conscious of his mean dishonesty toward a stranger, Allen attempted no vindication nor excuse, lest matters should assume even a worse aspect.  A moment or two he stood irresolute, and then retired from the house.  As he did so, Mr. Lovering entered the room where this little scene had just transpired, and was quite startled at the aspect of affairs.

“What’s this?  What has happened?  Fanny, child, what in the name of wonder is the matter?  Where’s Edward?”

Mr. Lovering spoke hurriedly.  As soon as practicable, the whole affair was related.

“And is that all?” exclaimed Mr. Lovering, in surprise.  “Pooh! pooh!  I’m really astonished!  I thought that some dreadful thing had happened.”

“Don’t you regard this as a very serious matter?” inquired Mrs. Waring.

“Serious?  No!  It’s a thing of every day occurrence.  If you are not a judge of the goods you attempt to purchase, you must expect to pay for your ignorance.  Shopkeepers have to make up their ratio of profits in the aggregate sales of the day.  Sometimes they have to sell a sharp customer at cost, rather than lose the sale; and this must be made up on some one like you.”

“Not a serious matter,” replied Fanny’s aunt, “to discover that the betrothed of your daughter is a dishonest man?”

“Nonsense! nonsense! you don’t know what you are talking about,” said Mr. Lovering, fretfully.  “He’s shrewd and sharp, as every business-man who expects to succeed must be.  As to his trade operations, Fanny has nothing to do with them.  He’ll make her a kind husband, and provide for her handsomely.  What more can she ask?”

“A great deal more,” replied Mrs. Waring, firmly.

“What more, pray?”