parent, and, if you believe the task will really be so troublesome, I must lament, that it is yours.” 

 “Well! niece, fine speaking signifies little. I am willing, in consideration of my poor brother, to overlook the impropriety of your late conduct, and to try what your future will be.” 

 Emily interrupted her, to beg she would explain what was the impropriety she alluded to. 

 “What impropriety! why that of receiving the visits of a lover unknown to your family,” replied Madame Cheron, not considering the impropriety of which she had herself been guilty, in exposing her niece to the possibility of conduct so erroneous. 

 A faint blush passed over Emily’s countenance; pride and anxiety struggled in her breast; and, till she recollected, that appearances did, in some degree, justify her aunt’s suspicions, she could not resolve to humble herself so far as to enter into the defence of a conduct, which had been so innocent and undesigning on her part. She mentioned the manner of Valancourt’s introduction to her father; the circumstances of his receiving the pistol-shot, and of their afterwards travelling together; with the accidental way, in which she had met him, on the preceding evening. She owned he had declared a partiality for her, and that he had asked permission to address her family. 

 “And who is this young adventurer, pray?” said Madame Cheron, “and what are his pretensions?” “These he must himself explain, madam,” replied Emily. “Of his family my father was not ignorant, and I believe it is unexceptionable.” She then proceeded to mention what she knew concerning it. 

 “Oh, then, this it seems is a younger brother,” exclaimed her aunt, “and of course a beggar. A very fine tale indeed! And so my brother took a fancy to this young man after only a few days acquaintance!—but that was so like him! In his youth he was always taking these likes and dislikes, when no other person saw any reason for them at all; nay, indeed, I have often thought the people he disapproved were much more agreeable than those he admired;—but there is no accounting for tastes. He was always so much influenced by people’s countenances; now I, for my part, have no notion of this, it is all ridiculous enthusiasm. What has a man’s face to do with his character? Can a man of good character help having a disagreeable face?”—which last sentence Madame Cheron delivered with the decisive air of a person who congratulates herself on having made a grand discovery, and believes the question to be 

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