"Sir Philip says that Mary of Burgundy died from an excess of modesty." "That disease will never depopulate England," was the answer that came from my garments, much to my chagrin.
"Sir Malcolm," exclaimed the old lady, "I never before heard so ungallant a speech from your lips."-- "And," thought I, "she never will hear its like from me." "Modesty," continued Lady Crawford, "may not be valued so highly by young women nowadays as it was in the time of my youth, but--" "I am sure it is not," interrupted Dorothy.
"But," continued Lady Crawford, "the young women of England are modest and seemly in their conduct, and they do not deserve to be spoken of in ungallant jest." I trembled lest Dorothy should ruin my reputation for gallantry.
"Do you not," said Lady Crawford, "consider Dorothy and Madge to be modest, well-behaved maidens ?" "Madge! Ah, surely she is all that a maiden should be.

She is a saint, but as to Dorothy--well, my dear Lady Crawford, I predict another end for her than death from modesty.

I thank Heaven the disease in its mild form does not kill.

Dorothy has it mildly," then under her breath, "if at all." The girl's sense of humor had vanquished her caution, and for the moment it caused her to forget even the reason for her disguise.
"You do not speak fairly of your cousin Dorothy," retorted Lady Crawford.
"She is a modest girl, and I love her deeply." "Her father would not agree with you," replied Dorothy.
"Perhaps not," responded the aunt.

"Her father's conduct causes me great pain and grief." "It also causes me pain," said Dorothy, sighing.
"But, Malcolm," continued the old lady, putting down her book and turning with quickened interest toward my other self, "who, suppose you, is the man with whom Dorothy has become so strangely entangled ?" "I cannot tell for the life of me," answered Malcolm No.2.