My aunt chatted about a variety of commonplaces; and my sense of self-complacency, which, God knows, was already impertinent enough, was not a little heightened by the marked deference and laboured urbanity of her manner to me. Had I been a prince of the blood royal, I don’t think she could have shown herself more flattered by my conversation, and more obliged by my condescension. There could be no doubt that her husband had inspired her with the most extravagant conceptions of the importance and splendour of his brother, the major. The pride of relationship, when there is anything to be proud of, is a sentiment, Eugenio, which springs eternal in all human breasts; it enables wives to snub their husbands with applause, and husbands to humiliate their wives with impunity; it gives importance to poverty and dignity to vulgarity; it embroiders the rags of the beggar, and justifies the impertinencies of unresisting imbecility. No, Eugenio, I am not quoting from “Rasselas.” This is all my own thunder. When Conny came in my aunt left the room. “Pray forgive me,” said I, “but, really, that is a lovely little hat you have on.” “I am glad you like it,” answered my cousin, looking at herself in the glass. “All feminine attire is becoming that looks saucy. Don’t you think so?” “Is this hat saucy?” “Very. There is a knowing expression about the feather, as though it has just been pulled out of a peacock’s tail, and the eye hasn’t had time to stop winking.” “What an odd idea! but this isn’t a peacock’s feather!” What! was _she_ going to prove as literal as her mamma? Defend it, ye Nine! “And then,” I went on, “there is an audacity about the curve of the brim, that fills me with irrepressible delight. Let me assure you, dear cousin, that it is the very hat of all the hats that ever were made, which you ought to wear.” “It was my choice,” said she, looking at me as though she were a little afraid. “But the carriage will soon be ready, and mamma wanted me to show you over the grounds before we drove out.” “I would much rather sit here with you,” I replied. “I can look at the grounds this afternoon.” “As you please,” said she prettily, seating herself in her mamma’s chair. She fronted the window, in consequence the light was full upon her face, and I was able to see every expression that rose and faded in it. “Your father introduced me to the bank this morning,” said I, fixing my eye upon her. “Yes?” “I had the honour of making the acquaintance of Mr. Curling.” I expected to see her wince and change colour. On the contrary, she remained perfectly impassive. She did not even ask me what I thought of him, or if I liked him, or anything about him. All she said was, “I hope you and he will get on together. He seems a very nice sort of young man.”