“Oh, aunt, how can you talk so!  I’m sure he was very agreeable.  At least, I thought so.”

“That was because he flattered you so cleverly.”

“How can you insinuate such a thing, aunt?  Surely I am not so weak and vain as to be imposed upon and beguiled by a flatterer!”

“Some men understand how to flatter very ingeniously; and, to me, Mr. Smith seemed peculiarly adept in the art.  He managed it so adroitly as to give it all the effect, without its being apparent to the subject of his experiments.”

“Indeed, aunt, you are mistaken.  I despise a flatterer as much as you do.  But I am sure that I saw nothing like flattery about Mr. Smith.”

“I am sorry that you did not, Margaretta.  But take my advice, and be on your guard.  That man’s motives in coming to see you, believe me, are not the purest in the world.”

“You are far too suspicious, aunt; I am sure you are.”

“Perhaps I have had cause.  At any rate, Margaretta, I have lived longer in, and seen much more of the world than you have, and I ought to have a clearer perception of character.  For your own sake, then, try and confide in my judgment.”

“I ought to confide in your judgment, aunt, I know; but I cannot see as you do in this particular instance.”

“Then you ought rather to suspect the correctness of your own observation, when it leads to conclusions so utterly opposed to mine.”

To this Margaretta did not reply.  It seemed too much like giving up her own rationality to assent to it, and she did not wish to pain her aunt by objections.

On the next evening, a quiet, intelligent, and modest-looking young man called in, and spent an hour or two with Margaretta and her aunt.  He did not present so imposing and showy an exterior as did Mr. Smith, but his conversation had in it far more substance and real common sense.  After he had retired, Margaretta said—­

“Well, it is no use; I cannot take any pleasure in the society of Thomas Fielding.”

“Why not, my dear?” asked the aunt.

“Oh, I don’t know; but he is so dull and prosy.”

“I am sure he don’t seem dull to me, Margaretta.  He doesn’t talk a great deal, it is true; but, then, what he does say is characterized by good sense, and evinces a discriminating mind.”

“But don’t you think, aunt, that my money has some influence in bringing him here?” And Margaretta looked up archly into her aunt’s face.

“It may have, for aught I can tell.  We cannot see the motives of any one.  But I should be inclined to think that money would have little influence with Thomas Fielding, were not every thing else in agreement.  He is, I think, a man of fixed and genuine principles.”

“No doubt, aunt.  But, still, I can’t relish his society.  And if I can’t, I can’t.”

“Very true.  If you can’t enjoy his company, why you can’t.  But it cannot be, certainly, from any want, on his part, of gentlemanly manners, or kind attentions to you.”