Young Henry, struck with compassion at grief of which he knew not the cause, begged to know "what was the matter?" "Inhuman monsters, to treat a woman thus!" cried his aunt in a fury, casting the corner of her eye into a looking-glass, to see how rage became her. "But, comfort yourself," said one of her companions: "few people will believe you merit the charge." "But few! if only one believe it, I shall call my reputation lost, and I will shut myself up in some lonely hut, and for ever renounce all that is dear to me!" "What! all your fine clothes?" said Henry, in amazement. "Of what importance will my best dresses be, when nobody would see them?" "You would see them yourself, dear aunt; and I am sure nobody admires them more." "Now you speak of that," said she, "I do not think this gown I have on becoming--I am sure I look--" The dean, with the bishop (to whom he had been reading a treatise just going to the press, which was to be published in the name of the latter, though written by the former), now entered, to inquire why they had been sent for in such haste. "Oh, Dean! oh, my Lord Bishop!" she cried, resuming that grief which the thoughts of her dress had for a time dispelled--"My reputation is destroyed--a public print has accused me of playing deep at my own house, and winning all the money." "The world will never reform," said the bishop: "all our labour, my friend, is thrown away." "But is it possible," cried the dean, "that any one has dared to say this of you?" "Here it is in print," said she, holding out a newspaper. The dean read the paragraph, and then exclaimed, "I can forgive a falsehood _spoken_--the warmth of conversation may excuse it--but to _write_ and _print_ an untruth is unpardonable, and I will prosecute this publisher." "Still the falsehood will go down to posterity," said Lady Clementina; "and after ages will think I was a gambler." "Comfort yourself, dear madam," said young Henry, wishing to console her: "perhaps after ages may not hear of you; nor even the present age think much about you." The bishop now exclaimed, after having taken the paper from the dean, and read the paragraph, "It is a libel, a rank libel, and the author must be punished." "Not only the author, but the publisher," said the dean. "Not only the publisher, but the printer," continued the bishop. "And must my name be bandied about by lawyers in a common court of justice?" cried Lady Clementina. "How shocking to my delicacy!" "My lord, it is a pity we cannot try them by the ecclesiastical court," said the dean, with a sigh. "Or by the India delinquent bill," said the bishop, with vexation. "So totally innocent as I am!" she vociferated with sobs. "Every one knows I never touch a card at home, and this libel charges me with playing at my own house; and though, whenever I do play, I own I am apt to win, yet it is merely for my amusement."