"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.
"You will convince yourself?" said Jingle.
"I will."
"You'll show your spirit?"
"I will."
"You'll not have him afterwards?"
"Never."
"You'll take somebody else?"
"Yes."
"You shall."