Dosia."

The colonel was plaiting and un-plaiting the ball-fringe of the
bed-slip; his eyes followed the motion of his fingers--he did not see
his sister's triumphant smile as she dived again into the trunk.

"That depends entirely on the girl. Take Louise Morris, for instance;
she regards you as partly entombed, probably"--the colonel winced
involuntarily--"but, on the other hand, a girl like Jane Leroy would
have no such nonsense in her head, and she can't be much more than
twenty."

"She is twenty-two," cried the unsuspecting colonel eagerly.

"Ah? I should not have said so much. Now such a girl as that, Cal,
handsome, dignified, college-bred, is just the wife for an older man.
One can't seem to see her marrying some young snip of her own age. She'd
be wasted on him. I happen to know that she refused Wilbur Vail entirely
on that ground. She admitted that he was a charming fellow, but she told
her mother he was far too young for her. And he was twenty-eight."

"Did she?" The colonel left the fringe. "But--but perhaps there were
other reasons; perhaps she didn't--"

"Oh, probably she didn't. But still, she said he was too young. That's
the way with these serious girls. Now I thought Dick was middle-aged
when I married him, and he was thirty. Jane doesn't take after her
mother; she was only nineteen when she was born--I mean, of course, when
Jane was born. Will you hand me that crocheted shawl, please?"

"My dear girl, you're not going to try to get that into that trunk, too?
Something will break."

"Not at all, my dear Clarence. Thank you. Will you send Norah up to me
as you go down?"

It had not occurred to the colonel that he was going down, but he
decided that he must have been, and departed, forgetting Norah utterly
before he had accomplished half of the staircase.

He wandered out through the broad hall, reaching down a hat absently,
and across the piazza. Then, half unconscious of direction, he crossed
the neat suburban road and strolled up the gravel path of the cottage
opposite. Mrs. Leroy was sitting in the bay-window, attaching indefinite
yards of white lace to indefinite yards of white ruffles. Jane, in cool
violet lawn, was reading aloud to her. Both looked up at his light knock
at the side door.

"But I am afraid I interrupt," he suggested politely, as he dropped
into a low chair with a manner that betokened the assurance of a warm
welcome.

"Not the least in the world," Mrs. Leroy smiled w