d to
me as a girl. I said to him, `Do you think you could be nice enough to
make up to me for home, and country, and relations and friends, and
associations and customs, and everything I have valued all my life?' He
said it was a matter of opinion. What did _I_ think? I said it was
ridiculous nonsense. _No_ man was nice enough! So he married Rosa
Bates, and I hear their second boy is a hunchback. You are eating
nothing, my dear. Take a scone. Let's hope it's all for the best!"

"Best or worst, it's done now," I said gloomily. Basil Anderson was
certainly "nice," and, unlike Aunt Emmeline, my sister Kathleen
entertained no doubt that he could fill every gap--home, country,
friends, a selection of elderly aunts, and even that only sister who had
so far acted as buffer between herself and the storms of life. At this
very moment the mole-coloured toque was probably reclining comfortably
on the tweed shoulder, and a smile was replacing tears as a big booming
voice cried comfortably:--

"Evelyn! Oh, _she'll_ be all right! Don't worry about Evelyn, honey.
Think of _me_!"

Following the line of the least resistance, I took the scone and chewed
it vacantly. Figuratively speaking, it tasted of dust and ashes;
literally, it tasted of nothing at all, and the tea was just a hot fluid
which had to be swallowed at intervals, as medicine is swallowed of
necessity.

Aunt Emmeline helped herself systematically from each of the plates in
turn, working steadily through courses of bread and butter, sandwiches,
scone, _petits fours_, and wedding cake. She was a scraggy woman, with
the appetite of a giant. Kathie and I used to wonder where the food
went! Probably to her tongue!

"Of course," said Aunt Emmeline, continuing her thoughts aloud, as was
her disconcerting habit, "Kathleen has money, and that gives a wife a
whip hand. I begged her only yesterday to stand up for herself. Those
little fair women are so apt to be bullied. I knew a case. Well, mind,
we'll hope it mayn't come to _that_! If she is sensible and doesn't
expect too much, things may work out all right. Especially for the
first years. If anything _does_ go wrong, it will be your fault,
Evelyn, for spoiling her as you have done."

"Thanks very much for the cheering thought," I said snappily. Aunt
Emmeline helped herself to a sandwich, and blinked with exasperating
forbearance.

"Not cheerful, perhaps, but it may be _useful_! If you'd taken my