if there is any dreadful mystery connected with Mr. Tupman, reveal it."
"Can I," said Mr. Jingle, fixing his eyes on the aunt's face—"can I see—lovely creature—sacrificed at the shrine—heartless avarice!" He appeared to be struggling with various conflicting emotions for a few seconds, and then said in a low deep voice—
"Tupman only wants your money."
"The wretch!" exclaimed the spinster, with energetic indignation. (Mr. Jingle's doubts were resolved. She had money).
"More than that," said Jingle-" loves another."
"Another!" ejaculated the spinster. "Who?"
"Short girl—black eyes—niece Emily."
There was a pause.
Now, if there were one individual in the whole world, of whom the spinster aunt entertained a mortal and deeply-rooted jealousy, it was this identical niece. The colour rushed over her face and neck, and she tossed her head in silence with an air of ineffable contempt. At last, biting her thin lips, and bridling up, she said—
"It can't be. I won't believe it."
"Watch 'em," said Jingle.
"I will," said the aunt.
"Watch his looks."
"I will."
"His whispers."
"I will."
"He'll sit next her at table."
"Let him."
"He'll flatter her."
"Let him."
"He'll pay her every possible attention."
"Let him."
"And he'll cut you."
"Cut me!" screamed the spinster aunt."He cut me;—will he!" and she trembled with rage and disappointment.
