“No; I am not at all sure of that. But nobody is all-wise. I am not, for one. He is a fine fellow; as good as gold; as true as steel. Always polite, always genial; and never speaks ill of any of you behind your backs.” Miss Maitland bridled at that. “What I have said is not out of dislike to the young man. I am warning a brother to take a little more care of his sister, that is all. However, after your sneer, I shall say no more behind Mr. Severne's back, but to his face--that is, if we ever see his face again, or Zoe's either.” “Oh, aunt!” said Fanny, reproachfully. “It is only the rain. La! poor things, they will be wet to the skin. Just see how it is pouring!” “That it is: and let me tell you there is nothing so dangerous as a _te'te-'a-te'te_ in the rain.” “A thunder-storm is worse, aunt,” said Fanny, eagerly; “because then she is frightened to death, and clings to him--_if he is nice.”_ Having galloped into this revelation, through speaking first and thinking afterward, Fanny pulled up short the moment the words were out, and turned red, and looked askant, under her pale lashes at Vizard. Observing several twinkles in his eyes, she got up hastily and said she really must go and dry her gown. “Yes,” said Miss Maitland; “come into my room, dear.” Fanny complied, with rather a rueful face, not doubting that the public “dear” was to get it rather hot in private. Her uneasiness was not lessened when the old maid said to her, grimly, “Now, sit you down there, and never mind your dress.” However, it came rather mildly, after all. “Fanny, you are not a bad girl, and you have shown you were sorry; so I am not going to be hard on you: only you must be a good girl now, and help me to undo the mischief, and then I will forgive you.” “Aunt,” said Fanny, piteously, “I am older than she is, and I know I have done rather wrong, and I won't do it any more; but pray, pray, don't ask me to be unkind to her to-day; it is brooch-day.” Miss Maitland only stared at this obscure announcement: so Fanny had to explain that Zoe and she had tiffed, and made it up, and Zoe had given her a brooch. Hereupon she went for it, and both ladies forgot the topic they were on, and every other, to examine the brooch. “Aunt,” says Fanny, handling the brooch, and eyeing it, “you were a poor girl, like me, before grandpapa left you the money, and you know it is just as well to have a tiff now and then with a rich one, because, when you kiss and make it up, you always get some reconciliation-thing or other.” Miss Maitland dived into the past and nodded approval. Thus encouraged, Fanny proceeded to more modern rules. She let Miss Maitland know it was always understood at her school that on these occasions of tiff, reconciliation, and present, the girl who received the present was to side in everything with the girl who gave it, for that one day. “That is the real reason I put on my tight boots--to earn my brooch. Isn't it a duck?” _“Are_ they tight, then?”