“Oh, respectfully! Bless us all! I have no respect for my own, and why I should have for yours, my little dear, I confess I can’t see. Oh, by the way, this is Cousin John, who I used to think by your blushing and all that----” “Phil, I think you are trying to make me angry. Cousin John is the best man in the world; but I never blushed--how ridiculous! I might as well have blushed to speak of my brother.” “I put no confidence in brothers, unless they’re real ones,” said Phil; “but I’m glad I’ve seen him, Nell. I doubt after all that you’re such a fool, when you see us together--eh?” He laughed that laugh of conscious superiority which, when it is not perfectly well-founded, sounds so fatuous to the hearer. Elinor did not look at him. She turned her head away and made no reply. John, on his part, as has been said, made no remark. If he had possessed a wife at home to whom he could have confided his sentiments, as Phil Compton had, it is possible that he might have said something not unsimilar. But then had he had a wife at home he would have been more indifferent to Phil, and might not have cared to criticise him at all. Mrs. Dennistoun received him when he came in obedience to her call, as a child might do who had the power of receiving its future corrector. She abased herself before him, servilely choosing his favourite subjects, talking of what she thought would please him, of former times at the Cottage, of Elinor, and her great affection for Cousin John, and so forth. I imagine that he had a suspicion of the cause of all this sweetness. He looked at her suspiciously, though he allowed himself to be drawn into reminiscences, and to feel a half pleasure, half pain in the affectionate things that Elinor had said. At length, after some time had passed, he asked, in a pause of the conversation, “Was this all you wanted with me, aunt, to talk of old times?” “Wasn’t it a good enough pretext for the pleasure of seeing you, John?” He laughed a little and shook his head. “An excellent pretext where none was wanted. It is very kind of you to think it a pleasure: but you had something also to say?” “It seems there is no deceiving you, John,” she said, and with many hesitations and much difficulty, told him her story. She saw him begin to flame. She saw his eyes light up, and Mrs. Dennistoun shook in her chair. She was not a woman apt to be afraid, but she was frightened now. Nevertheless, when she had finished her story, John at first spoke no word: and when he did find a tongue it was only to say, “You want to get back the money you have on that mortgage. My dear aunt, why did not you tell me so at once?” “But I have just told you, John.” “Well, so be it. You know it will take a little time; there are some formalities that must be gone through. You cannot make a demand on people in that way to pay you cash at once.” “Oh, I thought it was so easy to get money--on such very good security and paying such a good adequate rate of interest.”