"Don't, my dear; be warned in time," cried the old lady, piteously. "I was once as young and beautiful as you are, and I said yes, and was married, only to be forsaken at the end of ten years, to become a weary, unhappy woman, with only three thousand four hundred and twenty-two pounds left; and it's all melting slowly away, while when it's all gone Heaven only knows what's to become of me." "Poor old auntie!" said Laura Chester soothingly, taking the old lady's head on her shoulder; but it would shake all the same. "I had a house of my own, and now I have come down to keeping my nephew's. Don't you marry, my poor child: take warning by me. Men are so deceitful." "Wrong, auntie. Men were deceivers ever." "I'm not wrong, Fred. You've been a very good boy to me, but you're a grown man now, and though I love you I couldn't trust you a bit." "Thank you, aunt dear." "I can't, my love, knowing what I do. Human nature is human nature." "Aunt dear, for shame!" cried Laura. "No, my dear, it's no shame, but the simple truth, and I always told your poor father it was a sin and a crime to expose a young man to such temptation." "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the doctor, boisterously. "Here, Bel dear, don't you trust me." The young people's eyes met, full of confidence, and the old lady shook her head again. "I know what the world is and what men are," she continued, "and nothing shall make me believe that some of these fashionable patients have anything the matter with them." "Oh, you wicked old woman!" cried the doctor. "I'm not, Fred," she cried angrily. "Oh yes, you are, old lady. You say I don't understand your complaint; it's conscience." "It is not, sir. I've nothing on my conscience at all." "I don't believe you, auntie," he cried banteringly. "You must have been a wicked old flirt." "It is false, sir; and I don't hold with doctors being young and handsome." "No; I twig. Repentance. You used to go and see one when you were young, and give him guineas to feel your pulse." "How can you say such wicked things, Fred?" cried the old lady, turning scarlet. "But I will say it now. I'm sure it's not right for you to be seeing all these fine fashionable ladies, scores of them, every day." "Do take her upstairs, Laury," said the doctor, merrily. "Help her, Bel dear. You hear; I'm a horribly wicked man, and so fascinating that the ladies of Society flock to see me. Now, I appeal to you, dear. Did you ever hear such a wicked, suspicious old woman?" "Don't, don't, don't, Fred," sobbed the lady in question. "I only spoke for your good. But it can't last long now; and when I'm dead and gone you'll be sorry for all you've said." "Poor old darling!" said the doctor, affectionately; "she sha'n't have her feelings hurt. Now then, toddle up to the drawing-room. Lie down a bit; and have an early cup of tea, Laury."