upon the whole family if it was known—though, indeed, it might not have been so very wrong as it seemed, and as it would look to the world—ought she to break off her engagement for fear of involving her lover in the disgrace?”
“Certainly not, without telling him her reason for doing so.”
“Ah! but suppose she could not. She might not be at liberty to do so.”
“I can’t answer supposititious cases. I must have the facts—if facts there are—more plainly before me before I can give an opinion. Who are you thinking of, Ellinor?” asked he, rather abruptly.
“Oh, of no one,” she answered, in affright. “Why should I be thinking of any one? I often try to plan out what I should do, or what I ought to do, if such and such a thing happened, just as you recollect I used to wonder if I should have presence of mind in case of fire.”
“Then, after all, you yourself are the girl who is engaged, and who has the imaginary brother who gets into disgrace?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said she, a little annoyed at having betrayed any personal interest in the affair.
He was silent, meditating.
“There is nothing wrong in it,” said she, timidly, “is there?”
