My poor aunt Susan left all her friends, and died many years afterwards in London." "She was known to have died unmarried ?" I asked.

This would be an important question from George Sheldon's point of sight.
"Yes," Charlotte replied, blushing crimson.
That blush told me a great deal.
"There was some one concerned in this poor lady's sorrow," I said; "some one to blame for all her unhappiness." "There was." "One whom she loved and trusted, perhaps ?" "Whom she loved and trusted only too well.

O, Valentine, must not that be terrible?
To confide with all your heart in the person you love, and to find him base and cruel! If my poor aunt had not believed Montagu Kingdon to be true and honourable, she would have trusted her friends a little, instead of trusting so entirely in him.

O, Valentine, what am I telling you?
I cannot bear to cast a shadow on the dead." "My dear love, do you think I cannot pity this injured lady?
Do you think I am likely to play the Pharisee, and be eager to bespatter the grave of this poor sufferer?
I can almost guess the story which you shrink from telling me--it is one of those sad histories so often acted, so often told.

Your aunt loved a person called Montagu Kingdon--her superior in station, perhaps ?" I looked at Charlotte as I said this, and her face told me that I had guessed rightly.
"This Montagu Kingdon admired and loved her," I said.