re ordered by their doctors to rest, whenever she
appeared? Did she know? One thing was certain. Magdalen was one of the
very few persons who had never avoided her, who at times openly sought
her society. And Aunt Mary, though she would have been ashamed to own
it, loved Magdalen. She intended that Magdalen should live with her some
day at the Towers, as an unpaid companion, when Sir John and Aunt Aggie
had entered into peace.

"And your father," continued Aunt Mary. "Did he get my letter? I intend
to have a serious conversation with him after tea."

"Father has this moment come in, and he asked me to tell you that he had
business letters which he is obliged to write."

"I know what _that_ means."

"Oh! Mary!" interpolated Aunt Aggie eagerly. "You forget that Algernon
always, from the time he was a young man, left his letters to the last
moment. All the Bellairs do."

The Bellairs had other unique family characteristics, as peculiar to
themselves as their choice of time for grappling with their
correspondence, which Aunt Aggie was never tired of quoting. "Bellairs
are always late for breakfast. It is no kind of use finding fault with
Bessie about it. I was just the same at her age."

Aunt Aggie went through life under the belief that she was a peacemaker,
which delicate task she fulfilled by making in an impassioned manner
small statements which seldom contained a new or healing view of
existing difficulties. She often spoke of herself as a "buffer" between
contending forces. Sir John Blore had been known to remark that he could
not fathom what Aggie meant by that expression, as it certainly was not
appropriate to the domestic circle at The Towers, consisting, as it did,
of one rheumatic Anglo-Indian worm, and one able-bodied blackbird.

"I intend to see your father after tea," repeated Aunt Mary, taking no
notice of her sister's remark.

"Father is much worried about the right of way," continued Magdalen. "He
showed me your most kind letter about myself, and----"

"Showed it to _you_!" said Aunt Mary, becoming purple. "It was not
intended for any eye except your father's."

"Confidence between a father and his child," began Aunt Aggie, clasping
her stout little hands, and looking eagerly from her sister to her
niece.

Magdalen went on tranquilly. "It only told me what I knew before, Aunt
Mary, that you have my welfare at heart. Father said that he thought it
would be best if you and I talked the matter ove