The discussion of dress, to be sure, was something, and she found she had much to learn even there.  Then there was a great deal to be said about sociables, and theatres, and sets, and fellows; and there was also more or less conversation, carried on in a low tone that occasionally descended to a whisper, which, beyond that it seemed to have reference to marriage and kindred matters, was for the most part Greek to Cornelia.  A kind of metaphor was used which the country-bred minister’s daughter could not elucidate, nor could she comprehend how young ladies, unmarried as she herself was, could know so much about things which marriage alone is supposed to reveal.

Once or twice she had requested an explanation of some of these obscure points, but her request had been met, first by a dead silence, then by a laugh, and an inquiry whether she had no young married friends, and also whether she had ever read the works of Paul Feval, Dumas, and Balzac—­all of which gave her little enlightenment, but taught her to keep her mouth shut, and open her eyes and ears wider.

One day when “Aunt Margaret” had invited her to a tete-a-tete in the boudoir, it occurred to Cornelia, in the wisdom of her heart, to take advantage of the opportunity to introduce the subject.  She was a widow:  was very good-natured; would be sure not to laugh at her, and could hardly help knowing as much as the young ladies knew.

“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Vanderplanck, as Cornelia entered, “such a relief—­such a refreshment to look at that sweet face of yours!  There!  I must have my kiss, you know.  Yes, I was just thinking of you, my love—­so longing to have a quiet chat with you—­your dear father!—­such a grand man he is! such genius!  Oh! I was his devoted.  Tell me all about him, and that sweet home of yours, and dear little Sophie, too.  Oh!  I was so shocked, so terrified, to hear of her illness; and—­let me see!—­oh, yes, and that new pupil your papa has—­Mr. Bressant—­how is he? does he behave well? is he pleasant? do you see much of him? does he keep himself quiet?—­such a—­”

“Why! how did you know about him?” interrupted Cornelia, into Mrs. Vanderplanck’s ever-ready ear-trumpet.  “Is he a relation of yours, or any thing?”

Aunt Margaret stopped short, and pressed her thin, wide lips together.  She had never imagined but that Professor Valeyon had told his daughters through whose immediate instrumentality it was that Bressant made his appearance at the Parsonage; but finding, from Cornelia’s questions, that this was not so, she bethought herself that it might be well for her young guest to remain in ignorance, at least for the present.  It was not too late, and, after a scarcely-perceptible pause, she made answer: