ng, so selfless, so absolutely uncritical,
that if any woman could marry late she was the woman. She could have
lived with a monster of egotism without finding it out. Had she not
devoted herself to two such monsters most of her life? And perhaps Mr.
Kingston was not a monster. Aunt Emmy arranged the flowers early as she
only could arrange them. I was only allowed to fetch the water and clean
the glasses. A certain pony-cart was sent to Muddington with the cook in
it to buy a tongue, and a Stilton cheese, and a little barrel of
anchovies, and various other condiments which Uncle Tom approved. Uncle
Tom's tastes represented those of his whole sex for Aunt Emmy.

I insisted on her eating some luncheon, but this was barely possible, as
in the midst of it a telegram was brought in from Mr. Kingston to say he
should arrive by the 4.12 train.

After luncheon Aunt Emmy went to her room. I followed her there half an
hour later to give her a note, and found her standing in the middle of
the floor, looking at all her gowns laid out on chairs.

"I am afraid you can only think me very silly, my dear," she said, with
a sort of humble dignity. "I wished to consult you, but I did not like
to; but as you _are_ here, and if you don't mind my asking you--a
relation can often judge best what is advantageous--which gown _do_ you
think suits me best, the grey voile, or the lilac delaine, or the white
serge?"

I decided on the white serge, and long before the dogcart ordered to
meet him could possibly arrive, Aunt Emmy was sitting, paler than I had
ever seen her, beside a wood fire in the parlour in the soft white gown
I loved her best in, pretending to read. She had lit the fire, though
we were not in the habit of having it till later in the day, because she
thought Australians might feel chilly.

"I don't know how it is," she said at last, laying down the book, "but I
seem quite blind. I can't see the print."

I could not see the needle-work I was bending over either. But that was
because senseless tears kept on rising to my eyes, do what I would. Aunt
Emmy's eyes had no tears in them.

"It is very petty of me, I know, but I do hope he has not grown stout,"
she said presently. "But of course it is to be expected, and if it is so
I must try to bear it. It could not make any _real_ difference. Your
Uncle Tom is the same age, and of course he is not--he really is _not_
as thin as he was."

"Was he ever thin?"

"N-no. But Mr. Kingst