think he might have had enough of marrying by this time, and funerals and all that.  Your own precious mamma first, an earl’s own daughter (Evelyn Erle, never forget that, if your father was a poor soldier! you have grand relations in England, child, if you are not as rich as some others I could name), and then your mother and Miriam’s, Miss Harz that was, such an excellent woman for all her persuasion, to be sure; better than some Christians, I must say; and she just three years and a half laid in her grave!” A doleful sigh gave emphasis to this remark.  “I was never more surprised, I must confess, than when he sent for me last night to tell me he was to marry Miss Glen next week!  Who is she, I wonder, Evelyn; did you ever hear her speak of her kinfolks?  Not a soul except two or three of her church-people has been near her since she has been here, and Franklin says she very seldom gets letters.”  A pinch of snuff emphasized this remark.

“I heard her say she had only one brother, Mrs. Austin, and that he was in some distant part of the world, in India, or New Orleans, or some such place, she does not know herself exactly where.  He is a young lad, and she grieves about him; his picture is most beautiful, I think.  He ran off and went to sea, and it almost killed her.  That was some years ago, and since then she has been teaching in a great school until she came to us, and was never so peaceful before, she says, as she is now.  I think she will make papa happy too, and keep him in his own family, since she has none of her own.  I was so afraid it was Mrs. Stanbury at one time.”

“I never thought of that,” said Mrs. Austin, starting.  “What put it into your head, Evelyn, and what made you so close-mouthed about it?  Child, you have an old head on young shoulders—­I always said so; as like your own precious mother as two peas.  Yes, that would have been a nice connection truly!  The two young Stanburys forsooth, to divide every thing with you and Miriam, and her rigid economy the rule in the house, and Norman riding over every one on a high horse, and that lame brat to be nursed and waited on!  Any thing better than that, Evelyn.  You are right, my dear.”  And she tapped her suggestive snuffbox.

My elder sister was about thirteen years old when she uttered those oracular sentences which elicited Mrs. Austin’s commendations, and her own clear-sighted prevoyance; and I, at eight, whose mind was turned to any subject save that of marrying and giving in marriage, stood confounded by her superior wisdom and discretion.  I gazed upon her open-mouthed and wide-eyed as she spoke, drinking in every word, yet very little enlightened, after all, by her remarks.  She turned suddenly upon me, and tapped my cheek slightly with her fan.  It was a way she had of manifesting contempt.

“Now run and tell Mrs. Stanbury every word I have spoken, just as soon as you can, Miriam, do you hear?  Don’t forget one syllable, that’s a darling.  Come, rehearse!”