.)

'More than that,' said Jingle--'loves another.'

'Another!' ejaculated the spinster. 'Who?' 'Short girl--black
eyes--niece Emily.'

There was a pause.

Now, if there was one individual in the whole world, of whom the
spinster aunt entertained a mortal and deep-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.'

Mr. Jingle fell on his knees, remained thereupon for five
minutes thereafter; and rose the accepted lover of the spinster
aunt--conditionally upon Mr. Tupman's perjury being made clear and
manifest.

The burden of proof lay with Mr. Alfred Jingle; and he produced his
evidence that very day at dinner. The spinster aunt could hardly believe
her eyes. Mr. Tracy Tupman was established at Emily's side, ogling,
whispering, and smiling, in opposition to Mr. Snodgrass. Not a word,
not a look, not a glance, did he bestow upon his heart's pride of the
evening before.

'Damn that boy!' thought old Mr. Wardle to himself.--He had heard the
story from his mother. 'Damn that boy! He must have been asleep. It's
all imagination.'

'Traitor!' thought the spinster aunt. 'Dear Mr. Jingle was not deceiving
me. Ugh! how I hate the wretch!'

The following conversation may serve to explain to our readers this
apparently unaccountable alteration of deportment on the part of Mr.
Tracy Tupman.

The time was evening; the scene the garden. There were two figures
walking in a side path; one was rather short and stout; the other
tall and slim. They were Mr. Tupman and Mr. Jingle. The stout figure
commenced the dialogue.

'How did I do it?' he inquired.

'Splendid--capital--couldn't act better myself--you must repeat the part
to-morrow-