‘He’ll sit next her at table.’ ‘Let him.’ ‘He’ll flatter her.’ ‘Let him.’ ‘He’ll pay her every possible attention.’ ‘Let him.’ ‘And he’ll cut you.’ ‘Cut _me_!’ screamed the spinster aunt. ‘_he_ cut _me_; will he!’ and she trembled with rage and disappointment. ‘You will convince yourself?’ said Jingle. ‘I will.’ ‘You’ll show your spirit?’ ‘I will.’ You’ll not have him afterwards?’ ‘Never.’ ‘You’ll take somebody else?’ Yes.’ ‘You shall.’ Mr. Jingle fell on his knees, remained thereupon for five minutes thereafter; and rose the accepted lover of the spinster aunt-- conditionally upon Mr. Tupman’s perjury being made clear and manifest. The burden of proof lay with Mr. Alfred Jingle; and he produced his evidence that very day at dinner. The spinster aunt could hardly believe her eyes. Mr. Tracy Tupman was established at Emily’s side, ogling, whispering, and smiling, in opposition to Mr. Snodgrass. Not a word, not a look, not a glance, did he bestow upon his heart’s pride of the evening before. ‘Damn that boy!’ thought old Mr. Wardle to himself.--He had heard the story from his mother. ‘Damn that boy! He must have been asleep. It’s all imagination.’ ‘Traitor!’ thought the spinster aunt. ‘Dear Mr. Jingle was not deceiving me. Ugh! how I hate the wretch!’ The following conversation may serve to explain to our readers this apparently unaccountable alteration of deportment on the part of Mr. Tracy Tupman. The time was evening; the scene the garden. There were two figures walking in a side path; one was rather short and stout; the other tall and slim. They were Mr. Tupman and Mr. Jingle. The stout figure commenced the dialogue. ‘How did I do it?’ he inquired. ‘Splendid--capital--couldn’t act better myself--you must repeat the part to-morrow--every evening till further notice.’ ‘Does Rachael still wish it?’ ‘Of course--she don’t like it--but must be done--avert suspicion--afraid of her brother--says there’s no help for it--only a few days more--when old folks blinded--crown your happiness.’ ‘Any message?’ ‘Love--best love--kindest regards--unalterable affection. Can I say anything for you?’ ‘My dear fellow,’ replied the unsuspicious Mr. Tupman, fervently grasping his ‘friend’s’ hand--‘carry my best love--say how hard I find it to dissemble--say anything that’s kind: but add how sensible I am of the necessity of the suggestion she made to me, through you, this morning. Say I applaud her wisdom and admire her discretion.’ I will. Anything more?’ ‘Nothing, only add how ardently I long for the time when I may call her mine, and all dissimulation may be unnecessary.’ ‘Certainly, certainly. Anything more?’ ‘Oh, my friend!’ said poor Mr. Tupman, again grasping the hand of his companion, ‘receive my warmest thanks for your disinterested kindness; and forgive me if I have ever, even in thought, done you the injustice of supposing that you could stand in my way. My dear friend, can I ever repay you?’