The ladies now left the table. The sun had sunk behind the hills, but many gorgeous tints lingered behind, and made the quiet sky beautiful. My uncle, lifting his head out of his cravat, fixed a dyspeptic eye upon me, and bade me draw my chair near his and fill my glass. I cannot express how much I liked the honest, homely amiability of his manner. He seemed to me the very essence of kindness. We had a long chat about my father, of whom he was very proud and fond, and asked me many questions about his habits and opinions and means. He then talked of my other uncle, Richard, and his daughter Theresa, whom he described as a very fine girl, but so eccentric in her conduct as to cause some uneasiness to her father, who was anxious to get her married. “If she is handsome and has money,” I observed, “surely a husband ought to be easily got for her.” “Dick tells me she has had several admirers,” answered my uncle, “but she is so confoundedly fastidious that nobody is able to please her. What do you think of Conny?” “She is a cousin to boast of. She is the prettiest girl I have ever seen.” My uncle looked immensely gratified. “Yes, yes,” said he with a broad smile. “She is pretty enough. I have nothing to complain of. An only child is not always so well favoured. When nature is mean, she is generally mean with a vengeance. But Conny is a sly puss; she has made her mamma and me a little uneasy latterly.” “Indeed!” “My cashier, Curling, is a rather good looking young fellow, and Mrs. Hargrave has got an idea in her head that Conny admires him.” “Oh, there is no harm in that.” “She is afraid that Conny likes him.” “Women often have the queerest tastes,” said I uneasily. Why was I irritated by my aunt’s suspicion? “Did you notice that my wife rather poo-pooh’d bankers’ clerks?” “I did.” “That was done for a motive,” said my uncle with a twinkling eye. “My wife is a shrewd woman. I have no right to be her trumpeter, but I must say that very few women have my wife’s sagacity.” “Is Mr. Curling a gentleman?” “I believe so. He is a London man. But he’s no match for my daughter, I can tell you.” “I should think not,” said I jealously and warmly; “very few men are.” “However,” continued my uncle, twisting a wine-glass round upon the table, “all this may be a mere delusion on the part of your aunt.” [_Your aunt!_ Do you mark the flattering identification?] “It would certainly never do to appear suspicious. Trifles are easily made significant and important. Curling used to be asked here sometimes, but my wife won’t have him now; and I think she’s right. Eh? What do you think?” I fully agreed with him; and we then rose to join the ladies. Whilst we talked I had heard the sound of a piano, and on entering the drawing-room found Conny alone, playing very prettily. She instantly jumped up when she saw her father and me. I begged her to keep her place, but she refused. “Do you play?” she asked. “A waltz or two,” said I; “that’s all.”