I have
had a large experience) who didn't want to marry the man of her heart.
Now just look at that girl of Rhoda Broughton's, in 'Good-by,
Sweetheart!' We can all see she didn't die of any disease, but simply
because she couldn't be wedded to the man she loved. _There's_ a girl
for you! give _me_ a girl like that. If ever I fall in love with a man,
and I find I can't marry him, I shall make a point of dying of grief. It
is so graceful; just like what I have heard of Irving and Ellen Terry--I
mean, Romeo and Juliet!"

"But I can't bear to deceive Aunt Priscilla," says Monica. "She is so
kind, so good."

"Stuff and nonsense!" says Kit promptly. "Do you suppose, when Aunt
Priscilla was young, she would have deserted--let us say--Mr. Desmond
the elder, at the beck and call of any one? She has too much spirit, to
do her credit. Though I must say her spirit is rather out of place now,
at times."

"What would you have me do, then?" asks Monica, desperately.

"Oh, nothing," says Kit, airily,--"really _nothing_. I am too young, of
course, to give advice," with a little vicious toss of her small head.
"And of course, too, I know nothing of the world's ways," with another
toss, that conveys to her auditor the idea that she believes herself
thoroughly versed and skilled in society's lore, but that as yet she is
misunderstood. "And it is not my place, of course, to dictate to an
elder sister." This severely, and evidently intended as a slap at Monica
because of some little rebuke delivered by her, the other day, on the
subject of age. "But," with concentrated energy, "I would not be
_brutal_, if I were you."

"Brutal?" faintly.

"Yes, _brutal_, to keep him waiting for you all this time in the shadow
near the ivy wall!"

Having discharged this shell, she waits in stony silence for a reply.
She waits some time. Then--

"Are you speaking of--of Mr. Desmond?" asks Monica, in a trembling
voice.

"Yes. He is standing there now, and has been, for--oh, for hours,--on
the bare chance of gaining one word from you."

"Now?" starting.

"Yes. He said he would wait until I had persuaded you to go out. If I
had such a lover, I know I should not keep him waiting for me all the
evening _shivering_ with cold."

(It is the balmiest of summer nights.)

"Oh! what shall I do?" says Monica, torn in two between her desire to be
true to her aunt and yet not unkind to her lover.

"As I said before," says the resolute Kit, turning her sma