Helena, of course, everyone wanted, but Miss Blake no one wanted; and
the fact was made very patent to that lady.
"They'll be for parting you and me, my dear," said the poor creature one
day, when society had proved more than usually cruel. "If ever I am let
see you after your marriage, I suppose I shall have to creep in at the
area-door, and make believe I am some faithful old nurse wanting to have
a look at my dear child's sweet face."
"No one shall ever separate me from you, dear, silly aunt," said my
charmer, kissing first one of her relative's high cheek-bones, and then
the other.
"We'll have to jog on, two old spinsters together, then, I am thinking,"
replied Miss Blake.
"No," was the answer, very distinctly spoken. "I am going to marry Mr.
Henry Patterson, and he will not ask me to part from my ridiculous,
foolish aunt."
"Patterson! that conceited clerk of William Craven's? Why, he has not
darkened our doors for fifteen months and more."
"Quite true," agreed her niece; "but, nevertheless, I am going to marry
him. I asked him to marry me a year ago."
"You don't mane that, Helena!" said poor Miss Blake. "You should not
talk like an infant in arms."
"We are only waiting for your consent," went on my lady fair.
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