Meanwhile the unacute observations of Mrs. Fitzhenry began to be awakened. She gave herself great credit for discovering that there was something singular in the constant attendance of Edward, and yet, in fact, she owed her illumination on this point to her man of law. Mr. Humphries, whom she had seen on business the day before, finding how regular a visitor Villiers was, and their only one, first elevated his eyebrows and then relaxed into a smile, as he said, "I suppose I am soon to wish Miss Fitzhenry joy." This same day Edward had ridden down to them; a violent storm prevented his return to town; he slept at the inn and breakfasted with the ladies in the morning. There was something familiar and home-felt in his appearance at the breakfast-table, that filled Ethel with delight. "Women," says the accomplished author of Paul Clifford, "think that they must always love a man whom they have seen in his nightcap." There is deep philosophy in this observation, and it was a portion of that feeling which made Ethel feel so sweetly complacent, when Villiers, unbidden, rang the bell, and gave his orders to the servant, as if he had been at home. Aunt Bessy started a little; and while the young people were strolling in the shrubbery and renewing the flowers in the vases, she was pondering on the impropriety of their position, and wondering how she could break off an intimacy she had hitherto encouraged. But one way presented itself to her plain imagination, the old resource, a return to Longfield. With light heart and glad looks, Ethel bounded up stairs to dress for dinner, and she was twining her ringlets round her taper fingers before the glass, when her aunt entered with a look of serious import. "My dear Ethel, I have something important to say to you." Ethel stopped in her occupation and turned inquiring eyes on her aunt; "My dear," continued Mrs. Fitzhenry, "we have been a long time away; if you please, we will return to Longfield." This time Ethel did not grow pale; she turned again to the mirror, saying with a smile that lighted her whole countenance, "Dear aunt, that is impossible--I would rather not." No negative could have been more imposing on the good lady than this; she did not know how to reply, how to urge her wish. "Dearest aunt," continued her niece, "you are losing time--dinner will be announced, and you are not dressed. We will talk of Longfield to-morrow--we must not keep Mr. Villiers waiting."