"But you will some day," cried Isabel passionately, and with the tears of vexation in her eyes. "She is all that is amiable, and good, and ladylike." "Ladylike, child!" "Yes, Aunt. If she were not, I'm sure poor dear Neil would not have cared for her as he does." "Ah, well," said Aunt Anne, preening herself like a plump bird, "we shall see, I dare say. I will not call her an artful woman, but mark my words, Isabel, she will not rest till she has deluded one of your poor brothers into marrying her." "Aunt! And she avoids them, and is as distant as possible to poor Neil." "All feminine cunning, child. Oh, Isabel, I wish you would not be such a baby! Can you not see that it is to lead him on, while she is playing off one brother against the other?" "I will not argue with you, Aunt," said the girl indignantly. "No, my dear, I beg you will not. Wait and see, and then come to me humbly, and own how wrong you have been." Isabel was silent, and Aunt Anne went leisurely on with some fancywork of a very useless type, till an idea occurred to her, and she looked up. "Isabel, my dear, what wine was that Sir Cheltnam praised so, last time he dined here?" "Really, Aunt, I do not know." "No, child, you never know anything. It is very tiresome. I should like the dinner to go off well, and that wine has quite slipped my memory. Now, was it the hock, or the champagne? He would like the compliment if I had the forethought to have it served." Isabel shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "It is very tiresome," continued Aunt Anne. "He praised one of them, and made a face at the other; but perhaps I shall recollect by and by. I wonder that I remember anything, harassed as my poor brain is with worry and trouble, and you never trying in the least to help me, but rather setting yourself in antagonism." "Oh, Aunt, you are too hard." "Not a bit, child. And I am surprised at your giving so much as a passing thought to young Mr Beck. Tom! Gracious, what a name! Only fit for a groom, or one of the men about the farm." "Really, Aunt," began Isabel. "Now, pray do not interrupt me, Isabel. The name is common and absurd. Now, Cheltnam--Sir Cheltnam--Sir Cheltnam Burwood! It is old, aristocratic, and refined. A name to be proud of. But Beck--Tom Beck! Faugh!" "It sounds honest, Auntie," said the girl with spirit, "and does not suggest drinking the Cheltenham waters, which I believe are very bitter."