‘Don’t fall in love with Mr. Jerome Wellfield, Nita. Let him fall in love with you if he likes; but don’t _you_ do it,’ she said, deliberately. ‘Aunt Margaret! do you want to insult me?’ she asked, sitting up, pale and breathless with anger. ‘Not at all. I want to warn you. He is very romantic-looking—reminds one of Byron’s heroes, only more agreeable in general society than they would have been; but depend upon it, my dear, it is all looks. No Wellfield ever had a heart for anyone but himself.’ ‘Oh, I am so tired of listening to that old story, aunt! You would not say a good word for the Wellfields to save your life. Such constant abuse makes one begin to take the side of those who are abused.’ ‘Ah, I fear you are very far gone already!’ ‘How dare you! How _dare_ you speak to me in such a manner! Pray, what have you seen in my manner to Mr. Wellfield to make you assert such a monstrous thing?’ ‘Plenty, and I hear plenty more in your voice now,’ was the unmoved, unwavering retort. ‘And all that an old woman like me can do, is to keep on warning and warning. Don’t fall in love with him, Nita; for if you do, it will bring nothing but disaster. He is not of the kind that makes loving and faithful husbands.’ ‘When you are quite ready, I shall be glad if you will leave me alone,’ replied Nita, composedly; ‘or if you do not choose to leave me, I will leave you, and go to some other room. I am tired, and want to rest before I come down to supper. All that you say is utterly without foundation, and it makes me very unhappy.’ ‘That is odd, if it is without foundation,’ said Miss Margaret, fastening on a huge lace collar with the utmost tranquillity. ‘I will say no more to-night, but I shall consider it my duty to repeat my warning at intervals. You are the only young relation I have, and I should think it wrong to do less. All I say now, is, never marry a Wellfield in the hope of happiness.’