elt tempted
to laugh at the elderly romance; and yet his heart expanded warmly to
his tender little foolish aunt, who, after all, might once have been
young and in love like himself, though it was so odd to realise it. Mr
Wentworth, for his part, saw no humour whatever in the scene. He
thought nothing less than that some fresh complication had taken
place. Jack had committed some new enormity, or there was bad news
from Charley in Malta, or unpleasant letters had come from home.
"Bless my soul, sir, something new has happened," said the Squire; and
he was scarcely reassured, when Miss Dora stumbled up from her chair in
great confusion, and wiped the tears from her eyes. He was suspicious of
this meeting in the summer-house, which seemed a quite unnecessary
proceeding to Mr Wentworth; and though he flattered himself he
understood women, he could not give any reasonable explanation to
himself of Dora's tears.

"It is nothing--nothing at all," said Miss Dora: "it was not Frank's
doing in the least; he is always so considerate, and such a dear
fellow. Thank you, my dear boy; my head is a little better; I think I
will go in and lie down," said the unlucky aunt. "You are not to mind
me now, for I have quite got over my little attack; I always was so
nervous," said Miss Dora; "and I sometimes wonder whether it isn't the
Wentworth complaint coming on," she added, with a natural female
artifice which was not without its effect.

"I wish you would not talk nonsense," said the Squire. "The Wentworth
complaint is nothing to laugh at, but you are perfectly aware that it
never attacks women." Mr Wentworth spoke with a little natural
irritation, displeased to have his prerogative interfered with. When a
man has all the suffering attendant upon a special complaint, it is
hard not to have all the dignity. He felt so much and so justly
annoyed by Miss Dora's vain pretensions, that he forgot his anxiety
about the secret conference in the summer-house. "Women take such
fantastic ideas into their heads," he said to his son as they went
away together. "Your aunt Dora is the kindest soul in the world; but
now and then, sir, she is very absurd," said the Squire. He could not
get this presumptuous notion out of his head, but returned to it again
and again, even after they had got into Grange Lane. "It has been in
our family for two hundred years," said Mr Wentworth; "and I don't
think there is a single instance of its attacking a woman--not e