the answer that came
from my garments, much to my chagrin.

"Sir Malcolm," exclaimed the old lady, "I never before heard so ungallant
a speech from your lips."--"And," thought I, "she never will hear its like
from me."

"Modesty," continued Lady Crawford, "may not be valued so highly by young
women nowadays as it was in the time of my youth, but--"

"I am sure it is not," interrupted Dorothy.

"But," continued Lady Crawford, "the young women of England are modest and
seemly in their conduct, and they do not deserve to be spoken of in
ungallant jest."

I trembled lest Dorothy should ruin my reputation for gallantry.

"Do you not," said Lady Crawford, "consider Dorothy and Madge to be
modest, well-behaved maidens?"

"Madge! Ah, surely she is all that a maiden should be. She is a saint, but
as to Dorothy--well, my dear Lady Crawford, I predict another end for her
than death from modesty. I thank Heaven the disease in its mild form does
not kill. Dorothy has it mildly," then under her breath, "if at all."

The girl's sense of humor had vanquished her caution, and for the moment
it caused her to forget even the reason for her disguise.

"You do not speak fairly of your cousin Dorothy," retorted Lady Crawford.
"She is a modest girl, and I love her deeply."

"Her father would not agree with you," replied Dorothy.

"Perhaps not," responded the aunt. "Her father's conduct causes me great
pain and grief."

"It also causes me pain," said Dorothy, sighing.

"But, Malcolm," continued the old lady, putting down her book and turning
with quickened interest toward my other self, "who, suppose you, is the
man with whom Dorothy has become so strangely entangled?"

"I cannot tell for the life of me," answered Malcolm No. 2. "Surely a
modest girl would not act as she does."

"Surely a modest girl would," replied Aunt Dorothy, testily. "Malcolm, you
know nothing of women."

"Spoken with truth," thought I.

The old lady continued: "Modesty and love have nothing whatever to do with
each other. When love comes in at the door, modesty flies out at the
window. I do pity my niece with all my heart, and in good truth I wish I
could help her, though of course I would not have her know my feeling. I
feign severity toward her, but I do not hesitate to tell you that I am
greatly interested in her romance. She surely is deeply in love."

"That is a true word, Aunt Dorothy," said the lovelorn young woman. "I am
sure she is fathoms