"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 wildish I fancy.' So I'd have you beware."
"What does 'a bit wildish' mean?" I enquired.
"It means destitute of principle, and prone to every vice that is common to youth."
"But I've heard uncle say he was a sad wild fellow himself, when he was young."
