s name is the worst
thing about him. When I think of his name I see him ten times older than
he is. My feelings are in harmony with his pedigree concerning the age of
the name. One would have to be a woman of profound intellect to see the
advantage of sharing it.

'Mrs. Pollingray!' She must be a lady with a wig.

It was when we were rowing up by Hatchard's mill that I first perceived
his weakness, he was looking at me so kindly, and speaking of his
friendship for papa, and how glad he was to be fixed at last, near to us
at Dayton. I wished to use some term of endearment in reply, and said, I
remember, 'Yes, and we are also glad, Godpapa.' I was astonished that he
should look so disconcerted, and went on: 'Have you forgotten that you
are my godpapa?'

He answered: 'Am I? Oh! yes--the name of Alice.'

Still he looked uncertain, uncomfortable, and I said, 'Do you want to
cancel the past, and cast me off?'

'No, certainly not'; he, I suppose, thought he was assuring me.

I saw his lips move at the words I cancel the past,' though he did not
speak them out. He positively blushed. I know the sort of young man he
must have been. Exactly the sort of young man mama would like for a
son-in-law, and her daughters would accept in pure obedience when reduced
to be capable of the virtue by rigorous diet, or consumption.

He let the boat go round instantly. This was enough for me. It struck me
then that when papa had said to mama (as he did in that absurd situation)
'He is fifty,' Mr. Pollingray must have heard it across the river, for he
walked away hurriedly. He came back, it is true, with the boat, but I
have my own ideas. He is always ready to do a service, but on this
occasion I think it was an afterthought. I shall not venture to call him
'Godpapa' again.

Indeed, if I have a desire, it is that I may be blind to people's
weakness. My insight is inveterate. Papa says he has heard Mr. Pollingray
boast of his age. If so, there has come a change over him. I cannot be
deceived. I see it constantly. After my unfortunate speech, Mr.
Pollingray shunned our house for two whole weeks, and scarcely bowed to
us when coming out of church. Miss Pollingray idolises him--spoils him.
She says that he is worth twenty of Charles. Nous savons ce que nous
savons, nous autres. Charles is wild, but Charles would be above these
littlenesses. How could Miss Pollingray comprehend the romance of
Charles's nature?

My sister Evelina is now Mr.