‘ Well, Helen, how do you like Mr. Boarham now?’ said my aunt, as we took our seats in the carriage and drove away.
‘ Worse than ever,’ I replied.
She looked displeased, but said no more on that subject.
‘ Who was the gentleman you danced with last,’ resumed she, after a pause—‘that was so officious in helping you on with your shawl?’
‘ He was not officious at all, aunt: he never attempted to help me till he saw Mr. Boarham coming to do so; and then he stepped laughingly forward and said, “Come, I’ll preserve you from that infliction.”’
‘ Who was it, I ask?’ said she, with frigid gravity.
‘ It was Mr. Huntingdon, the son of uncle’s old friend.’
‘ I have heard your uncle speak of young Mr. Huntingdon. I’ve heard him say, “He’s a fine lad, that young Huntingdon, but a bit wild
