"Just lend me your scissors, Blanche; this netting-silk knots so, I must cut it. I think it most likely, my dear, that Arthur—there! another knot—what was I saying? Oh, that though Arthur might be jealous, as a lover, of every man you spoke to, it is not very likely, that with his good sense and warm feelings, and with the dependence he must have in your affection, he will suspect you of encouraging any attentions of Colonel Hilton. However, I am glad you write and tell him everything."
"Of course I do, and as you say, dear Aunt, it is very different now we are married. Arthur must know that I could not care now for anybody's admiration but his," and Blanche sat up on her sofa, and slipped off her little cap, and began to revive.
"But then I have not told you my worst misfortunes. I have had no letter for three days, and those dreadful Miss Hopkinsons began to play on their pianoforte this morning, and actually played the Dead March in Saul, and it gave me all sorts of shocking
