“I hope so,” he said, laughing. “If they are not happy now, when should they be happy? the honeymoon scarcely over, and all sorts of delights before them.” “Yes; that is just what I was going to say,” said Lady Caroline; “so why should I mope?” “Why, indeed?” He took his aunt’s soft hand into his, and caressed it. Rollo was fond of his aunt, strange though it may appear. She had never scolded him, though this was the favourite exercise of all the rest of his family. When he came home in disgrace she had always received him just the same as if he had come in triumph. Whoever might find fault with him for wasting his talents, or disappointing the hopes of his friends, his Aunt Caroline had never done so. He could not help laughing a little as he spoke, but he caressed her soft white hand as he did so, compunctious, to make amends to her for the ridicule. Lady Caroline, it need not be said, attached no idea of ridicule to his laugh. “But I have come to tell you,” said Rollo, “that I have been out again walking up and down the Dean’s Walk, as I did the night of the wedding, and I have not been able to hear a note of your singer--the girl with the wonderful voice.” “Did I say there was a girl with a wonderful voice, my dear? I forget.” “Not you, but Augusta; don’t you remember, Aunt Caroline, a girl in the Cloisters, in--in the Lodges, a Miss--I don’t remember the name. Lottie something, Augusta called her.” “Ah! Augusta was too ready to make friends. It is Miss Despard, I suppose.” “Well; might we not have Miss Despard here some evening? If her voice is as fine as Augusta said, it might be the making of me, Aunt Caroline. An English _prima donna_ would make all our fortunes. And unless I hear her, it is not possible, is it, I appeal to your candour, that I can judge?”