"'tis so profound. As for me, I seek no reasons; 'tis enough to know
that most witty women are frights; and I don't blame the men for
refusing to be charmed by 'em."

"Well, sis," said Tom, "I'm sure even the cultivation of wit wouldn't
make you a fright. So you might amuse yourself by trying it, ma'am. As
for charming the men, you married ladies have no more to do with
that."

"Oh, haven't we? Sure, I think 'tis time little boys were in bed, who
talk of things they know nothing about. Isn't that so, Bert?"

"Why," said I, "for my part, I think 'tis unkind for a woman to
exercise her charms upon men after she has destroyed the possibility
of rewarding their devotion."

"Dear me, you talk like a character in a novel. Well, then, you're
both agreed I mustn't be charming. So I'll be disagreeable, and begin
with you two. Here's a book of sermons Mr. Cornelius must have left.
That will help me, if anything will." And she sat down with the volume
in her hands, took on a solemn frown, and began to read to herself.
After awhile, at a giggle of amusement from schoolboy Tom, she turned
a rebuking gaze upon us, over the top of the book; but the very effort
to be severe emphasised the fact that her countenance was formed to
give only pleasure, and our looks brought back the smile to her eyes.

"'Tis no use," said Tom, "you couldn't help being charming if you
tried."

She threw down the book, and came and put her arm around him, and so