to see you, for you were the death of my unfortunate aunt.' Somewhat surprised at this sudden charge of murder, Mrs. Lowe naturally inquired into particulars. 'Your husband was engaged to my poor aunt: he deserted her for you, and she died of a broken heart.' 'At what age?' inquired her unconscious rival. 'My poor aunt was fifty-two when she died.' 'At least,' said Mrs. Lowe, 'she took some time to consider of it.' For my part, I think hearts are very much like glasses—if they do not break with the first ring, they usually last a considerable time."
"What a charming old lady she was!" resumed Mr. Delawarr; "she had of age so little but its experience, and had lost of youth so little but its frivolity. I was once much delighted with an answer I heard her give to a young gentleman, whose silly irreverence of speech on sacred subjects richly deserved the rebuke it drew. 'Really, Mrs. Lowe, you have quite a masculine mind.' 'No, sir,' returned she, 'say a firm one.'"
"I can assure you, Miss Arundel," said Edward, "if you were to see her, you would quite anticipate the days of close caps, &c."
Emily smiled; but, somehow or other, she
