"No, indeed; it is all quite true. From what I have heard, your uncle must have treated my mother very badly. Now, aren't you thoroughly ashamed of yourself and your family?" "One swallow makes no summer," says Mr. Desmond, hardily. "Because my uncle refused to succor a distressed damosel is no reason why I should so far forget myself. Besides, the whole thing seems incredible. Report says, and," with an expressive glance at her, "I can well believe it, your mother was the most beautiful woman of her time in all the countryside; while my uncle, bless him, is one of the very ugliest men I ever met in my life. He might take a prize in that line. Just fancy the Beast refusing to wed with Beauty!" "To be ugly, so far as a _man_ is concerned, is nothing," says Monica with a knowledge beyond her years. "Many singularly plain men have been much beloved. Though"--with an unconscious study of her companion's features, who is decidedly well favored--"I confess I should myself prefer a man whose nose was straight, and whose eyes were--had no inclination to look round the corner, I mean." "A straight nose is to be preferred, of course," says Mr. Desmond, absently stroking his own, which is all that can be desired. "But I never since I was born heard such an extraordinary story as yours. I give you my word,"--earnestly,--"my uncle is just the sort of man who, if _any_ girl, no matter how hideous, were to walk up to him and say, 'I consent to marry you,' ought to be devoutly grateful to her. Why, talking of noses, you should just see his: it's--it's _anyhow_," with growing excitement. "It's all up hill and down dale. I never before or since saw such a nose; and I'd back his mouth to _beat that_!" "He must be a very distinguished-looking person," says Miss Beresford, demurely. "I know very little about him, of course, having been always so much abroad; but he _looks_ like a man who could be painfully faithful to an attachment of that kind." "He was not faithful to her, at all events. I daresay he fell in love with some other girl about that time, and slighted my mother for her." "Well," says Mr. Desmond, drawing a deep breath, "he _is_ 'a grand man!'" "I think he must be a very _horrid_ old man," replies Monica, severely. "You have proofs of his iniquity, of course," says Brian, presently, who evidently finds a difficulty in believing in his uncle's guilt. "Yes. He wrote her a letter, stating in distinct terms that"--and here she alters her voice until it is highly suggestive of Miss Blake's fine contralto--"'he deemed it expedient for both parties that the present engagement existing between them should be annulled.' Those are Aunt Priscilla's words; what he really meant, I suppose, was that he was tired of her." "Your mother, I should imagine, was hardly a woman to be tired of readily."