so filled with pity for him that if it hadn’t been for Maria I think I should at once have assumed charge of his case, and, as his personal counsel, sued the family for damages on his behalf.  He did not strike me as being either old enough, or sufficiently gifted in the arts of philandery, to be taken seriously as a professional heart-breaker, and to tell the truth I had to restrain myself several times from telling him that I thought the whole affair a tempest in a teapot, because, in wanting consciously to marry two members of the family, he had only attempted to do what I had done unconsciously when I and the whole tribe of Talberts, remotely and immediately connected, became one.  Nevertheless, I addressed him coldly.

“Mr. Goward,” I said, when the first greetings were over, “this is a most unfortunate affair.”

“It is terrible,” he groaned, pacing the thin-carpeted floor like a poor caged beast in the narrow confines of the Zoo.  “You don’t need to tell me how unfortunate it all is.”

“As a matter of fact,” I went on, “I don’t exactly recall a similar case in my experience.  You will doubtless admit yourself that it is a bit unusual for a man even of your age to flirt with the maiden aunt of his fiancee, and possibly you realize that we would all be very much relieved if you could give us some reasonable explanation of your conduct.”

“I’ll be only too glad to explain,” said Goward, “if you will only listen.”

“In my own judgment the best solution of the tangle would be for you to elope with a third party at your earliest convenience,” I continued, “but inasmuch as you have come here it is evident that you mean to pursue some course of action in respect to one of the two ladies—­my sister or my aunt.  Now what is that course? and which of the two ladies may we regard as the real object of your vagrom affections?  I tell you frankly, before you begin, that I shall permit no trifling with Peggy.  As to Aunt Elizabeth, she is quite able to take care of herself.”

“It’s—­it’s Peggy, of course,” said Goward.  “I admire Miss Elizabeth Talbert very much indeed, but I never really thought of—­being seriously engaged to her.”

“Ah!” said I, icily.  “And did you think of being frivolously engaged to her?”

“I not only thought of it,” said Goward, “but I was.  It was at the Abercrombies’, Mr. Price.  Lily—­that is to say, Aunt Elizabeth—­”

“Excuse me, Mr. Goward,” I interrupted.  “As yet the lady is not your Aunt Elizabeth, and the way things look now I have my doubts if she ever is your Aunt Elizabeth.”

“Miss Talbert, then,” said Goward, with a heart-rending sigh.  “Miss Talbert and I were guests at the Abercrombies’ last October—­maybe she’s told you—­and on Hallowe’en we had a party—­apple-bobbing and the mirror trick and all that, and somehow or other Miss Talbert and I were thrown together a great deal, and before I really knew how, or why, we—­well, we became engaged for—­for the week, anyhow.”