I object
intensely to that dashing style! He is just the type of man to run
after a girl for her money. I shall take special care that they do not
meet. One thing I am determined upon," said Miss Briskett, sternly,
"and that is that there shall be no love-making, nor philandering of any
kind under my roof. I could not be troubled with such nonsense, nor
with the responsibility of it. I am accustomed to a quiet, regular
life, and if Cornelia comes to me, she must conform to the regulations
of the household. At my age I cannot be expected to alter my ways for
the sake of a girl."

"Certainly not. She is a mere girl, I suppose! How old may she be?"

Miss Briskett considered.

"She was born in the winter! I distinctly remember coming in and seeing
the cable, and taking off my fur gloves to open it.--It was the year I
bought the dining-room carpet. It was just down, I remember, and as we
drank the baby's health, the cork flew out of the bottle, and some of
the champagne was spilt, and there was a great fuss wiping it up--
Twenty-two years ago! Who would have thought it could be so long?"

"Ah, it always pays to get a good thing while you are about it. It
costs a great deal at the start, but you have such satisfaction
afterwards. It's not a bit faded!" Mrs Ramsden affirmed, alluding, be
it understood, to the Turkey carpet, and not to Miss Cornelia Briskett.
"Twenty-two. Just a year younger than my Elma! Elma will be glad to
have a companion."

"It is kind of you to say so. Nothing would please me better than to
see Cornelia become intimate with your daughter. Poor child, she has
not had the advantages of an English upbringing; but we must hope that
this visit will be productive of much good. She could not have a better
example than Elma. She is a type of a sweet, guileless, English girl."

"Ye-es!" asserted the sweet girl's mother, doubtfully; "but you know,
dear Miss Briskett, that at times even Elma..." She shook her head,
sighed, and continued with a struggling smile: "We must remember--must
we not--that we have been young ourselves, and try not to be too hard on
little eccentricities!"

Mrs Ramsden spoke with feeling, for memory, though slumbering, was not
dead. She had not always been a well-conducted widow lady, who
expressed herself with decorum, and wore black cashmere and bugles.
Thirty odd years ago she had been a plump little girl, with a lively
capacity for mischief.

On one occasi