I saw poor Harry Goward turn so pale when he first saw me after my
arrival. Why, in the name of common-sense, Ada, my sister-in-law, when
she wrote to me at the Pollards', announcing Peggy's engagement, could
not have mentioned who the man was, I cannot see.

Sometimes it seems to me that only the girl and the engagement figure at
all in such matters. I suppose Peggy always alluded to me as "dear Aunt
Elizabeth," when that poor young fellow knew me at the Abercrombies',
where we were staying a year ago, as Miss Lily Talbert. The situation
with regard to him and Peggy fairly puzzles me. I simply do not know
what to do. Goodness knows I never lifted my finger to attract him.
Flirtations between older women and boys always have seemed to me
contemptible. I never particularly noticed him, although he is a
charming young fellow, and there is not as much difference in our ages
as in those of Harriet Munroe and her husband, and if I am not mistaken
there is more difference between the ages of Ned Temple and his wife.
Poor soul! she looks old enough to be his mother, as I remember him, but
that may be partly due to the way she arranges her hair. However, Ned
himself may have changed; there must be considerable wear and tear about
matrimony, taken in connection with editing a country newspaper. If I
had married Ned I might have looked as old as Mrs. Temple does. I wonder
what Ned will do when he sees me. I know he will not turn white, as poor
Harry Goward did. That really worries me. I am fond of little Peggy,
and the situation is really rather awful. She is engaged to a man who
is fond of her aunt and cannot conceal it. Still, the affection of most
male things is curable. If Peggy has sense enough to retain her love for
frills and bows, and puts on her clothes as well, and arranges her hair
as prettily, after she has been married a year--no, ten years (it will
take at least ten years to make a proper old-maid aunt of me)--she may
have the innings. But Peggy has no brains, and it really takes a woman
with brains to keep her looks after matrimony.

Of course, the poor little soul has no danger to fear from me; it
is lucky for her that her fiance fell in love with me; but it is the
principle of the thing which worries me. Harry Goward must be as fickle
as a honey-bee. There is no assurance whatever for Peggy that he will
not fall headlong in love--and headlong is just the word for it--with
any other woman after he has married her