It was Aunt Deborah who spoke. Dear Aunt Deborah! I felt as if I had not been half attentive enough to her lately. I had selfishly been so taken up with my own thoughts and my own schemes that I had neglected my poor suffering relative, and now my heart smote me for my want of consideration. Aunt Deborah had not left the house since our return from Dangerfield. She looked worn and old, but had the same kind smile, the same measured accents as ever. Though she endured a good deal of pain and was kept in close confinement, she never complained: patient and quiet, she had a kind word for every one; and even her maid avowed that "missus's" temper was that of an angel. "Hangel," the maid called it, but it was perfectly true. Aunt Deborah must have had something very satisfactory to look forward to, or she never would have been so light-hearted. One thing I remarked, she was fonder of John than ever. "I won't go, my dear aunt," was my reply, for my conscience smote me hard. "I won't go; I don't care about it; I had much rather stay and nurse you here." But Aunt Deborah wouldn't hear of it. "No, no," said she, "my dear; you are at the right age to enjoy yourself. I don't know much about Scamperley, and I have a far more charitable opinion of Lady Scapegrace than the world in general; but I dare say you will have a pleasant party, and I can trust you anywhere with John." There it was, John again--always John--and I knew exactly what John thought of me; and it made me thoroughly despise myself. I reflected that if I were John, I should have a very poor opinion of my cousin; I should consider her silly, vacillating, easily deceived, and by no means to be depended upon; more than woman in her weaknesses, and less than woman in her affections. "What a character! and what a contempt he must have for me!" My cousin called to take me to the railway, and to accompany me as a chaperon on a visit to Sir Guy and Lady Scapegrace, who were, as usual, "entertaining a distinguished party of fashionables at their residence, Scamperley." By the way, what an odd phrase that same "entertaining" always sounds to my ear. When I learn that the Marquis of Mopes has been "entertaining" his friends, the Duke of Drearyshire, Count and Countess Crotchet, Viscount Inane, Sir Simon and Lady Sulkes, the Honourable Hercules Heavyhead, etc., etc., at his splendid seat, Boudoir Castle, I cannot refrain from picturing to myself the dignified host standing on his bald head for the amusement of his immovable visitors, or otherwise, forgetful of his usual staid demeanour, performing ludicrous antics, projecting disrespectful "larks," to woo a smile from those stolid countenances in vain! Sir Guy might be "entertaining," too, in this way, but hardly in any other. What a disagreeable man he was! although I could not help acknowledging his good nature in coming to fetch us from the station himself.