"I'll guess once, and no more. It is old Helstone. She is going to be your aunt."
"I'll tell my uncle; I'll tell Shirley!" cried Caroline, laughing gleefully. "Guess again, Robert; your blunders are charming."
"It is the parson, Hall."
"Indeed, no: he is mine, if you please."
"Yours! Ay! the whole generation of women in Briarfield seemed to have made an idol of that priest: I wonder why: he is bald, sand-blind, gray-haired."
"Fanny will be here to fetch me, before you have solved the riddle, if you don't make haste."
"I'll guess no more, I am tired: and then I don't care. Miss Keeldar may marry 'le grand Turc' for me."
"Must I whisper."
"That you must, and quickly: here comes Hortense; come near, a little nearer, my own Lina: I care for the whisper more than the words."
She whispered: Robert gave a start, a flash of the eye, a brief laugh: Miss Moore entered, and Sarah followed behind, with information that Fanny was come. The hour of converse was over.
Robert found a moment to exchange a few more whispered sentences: he was waiting at the foot of the staircase, as Caroline descended after putting on her shawl.
"Must I call Shirley a noble creature now?" he asked.
"If you wish to speak the truth, certainly."
"Must I forgive her?"
