said Aunt Ellen, "that this house is larger than
your Aunt Laura and I require, I told your father that with my own lips.
But at the same time it is unlikely that at my age I have many more
years to live, and I said that if it could be so arranged, I should wish
to die in this house as I have lived in it for the greater part of my
life."

"He saw that at once," said Aunt Laura. "There is nobody that is quicker
at seeing a thing than your dear father, Cicely. He spoke very kindly
about it. He said we must all die some time or other, which is perfectly
true, but that if your Aunt Ellen did not live to be a hundred he should
never forgive her. He is like your dear Aunt Caroline in that; he is
always one to look at the bright side of things."

"But didn't he tell you at once that he didn't want to let the house?"
asked Cicely. "Did he leave it to Mr. Hayles to tell you afterwards?"

"There was a delicacy in that," replied Aunt Laura. "If there is one
thing that your dear father dislikes, it is being thanked. And we could
not have helped thanking him. We had gone through a week of considerable
anxiety."

"Which he might have saved you," Cicely thought, but did not say.

"When we lived at Kencote House with our father," said Aunt Ellen, "it
was never thought that the dower-house possessed any advantages to speak
of. I do not say that we have made it what it is, for that would be
boasting, but I do say that it would not be what it is if we had not
made it so; and now that the danger is past, it causes both your Aunt
Laura and myself much gratification, and would cause gratification to
your other dear aunts if they could know what had happened, as no doubt
they do, that it should now be sought after."

The topic proved interesting enough to occupy the conversation for the
rest of Cicely's visit. She kept them to it diligently and got through
nearly an hour's talk without further recurrence to her misdoings. Then
she took her leave rather hurriedly, congratulating herself that she had
got safely over another fence.

CHAPTER XXII

THE LIFE

Mrs. Graham, in spite of her good points, was not overburdened with the
maternal spirit. She had little love for children as children, and when
her own were small she had lavished no great amount of affection on
them. In the case of other people's children she frankly averred that
she didn't understand them and preferred dogs. But she was equable by
nature and had companiona