h I own you don't
look it, my dear. Well, what's the matter with Colonel Stoddart, I
should like to know?"

"Nothing."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it, for he tells me you refused him again only
last week. Now, look here. One moment, please. Don't speak. I call it
Providence, downright Providence," and Uncle Tom rapped the table with a
thick finger. "And yet you won't look at him. I don't say marry him out
of hand. Of course," Uncle Tom added hurriedly, "you can't leave the old
pater while he is above ground. There's no question of that. But I _do_
say, Give the fellow a chance. He's been dangling after you for years.
Tell him that some day----"

Aunt Emmy rose from the table, and laid down her napkin.

"Now, look here, old girl," said Uncle Tom, not unkindly, "don't get
your feathers up with me. Think better of it. You know this sort of
first-class opportunity may not occur again. It really may not. If it
isn't Providence, I'm sure I don't know what it is. And I believe your
only reason for refusing him is because of Bob Kingston. Now, don't fly
in the face of Providence just out of a bit of rotten sentiment which
you ought to be ashamed of at your age."

My brain reeled. I had never heard of Bob Kingston. I said "Good God!"
to myself, not because it was natural to me to use such an expression,
but because I felt it was suitable to the occasion and to a person whose
hair was done up.

"Tom," said Aunt Emmy, her soft eyes blazing, "I desire that you will
never allude to Mr. Kingston again."

She left the room, and I did the same, with what I hope was a withering
glance at the open-mouthed Uncle Tom, who for days afterwards
interlarded his conversation with the refrain that he was blessed if he
could understand women.

But I dared not follow Aunt Emmy to her little sitting-room at the top
of the house. She who was almost never alone, clung, I knew, to that
tiny refuge, and it was an understood thing between us that I might
creep in and sit with her a little after tea, but not before.

So I raged up and down the empty gilded and mirrored drawing-room,
finding myself quite unable to reconcile the situation with my faith in
a beneficent Deity; and then consoled myself by chronicling my tottering
faith in my diary. I wrote a diary until I married. Then, I suppose, I
became more interested in life than in recording my own feelings. At
any rate, I discontinued it.

At last, when Aunt Emmy did not come down for tea, I