"How do you do?" said Alizon kindly, feeling sorry for the blushing Minnie. "I've heard about you from my husband. You write poetry, do you not?" An affirmative snort from Aunt Jelly. "Yes," replied Minnie, "I do write poetry sometimes." "So Mr. Gartney told me." "Oh, Eustace," cried Aunt Jelly significantly, "where is he now? Guy, don't go to sleep! Where is your cousin?" "I don't know," retorted Guy, who had closed his eyes for a moment. "Gone to Cyprus, or some out of-the-way place. Hasn't he written to you?" "Does he ever write letters?" demanded Aunt Jelly in an exasperated tone. "No! he keeps all his scribblings for the public." "Oh, he does write beautifully," said Minnie, clasping her hands. "Humph! that's a matter of opinion," responded Aunt Jelly doubtfully. "He's as blasphemous as Lord Byron, without any of his genius. He's more like that Lalla Rookh man that wrote such dreadful things under the name of Little. Don't be afraid, child, I'm not going to quote them." "Mr. Gartney is a very charming talker," said Alizon quietly. "Bless me, child, you've got a good word to say for everyone," remarked Aunt Jelly, with a benevolent scowl. "He certainly does talk well. It's almost a lost art now-a-days. Men and women don't talk, they drivel about their own virtues and their friends' faults. But Eustace!--well, yes, he's more amusing than you, Guy; you, my dear, have got all your goods in the shop window. Good appearance, but no brains." Guy, being used to Miss Corbin's plain speaking, roared with laughter at this flattering description, but Alizon felt indignant at her good-looking, kind-hearted husband being thus decried, and spoke out boldly. "I don't think so at all." "That's a very good thing--for Guy," said the old dame grimly. "Don't take up the cudgels on your husband's account, my dear, he's big enough to look after himself. After all, he has a better heart than Eustace, and he doesn't write poetry, which is a blessing. We must always be thankful for small mercies." Minnie felt rather indignant at this indirect shaft, but stood too much in awe of Miss Corbin to venture a remonstrance, so after a pause, during which Aunt Jelly eyed the trio like an elderly beldame of romance, Lady Errington continued the conversation. "Well, we must allow some latitude to genius." "Genius!" scoffed Aunt Jelly, picking up a stitch she had dropped. "My dear, in my young days every farthing rush-light did not call itself the sun. Eustace is clever in a nasty find-faulty way, I admit, but he's not a genius. He ought to give up writing abusive books, and marry, but there--if he did he'd worry the best woman that ever breathed into her grave." "He sings beautifully, at all events," said Lady Errington, feeling rather nonplussed as to how to satisfy this contradictory woman.