“Thank you, dear madam,” said Miss Stanhope; “I am not at all sensitive about it, fortunately, as my nephew knows, and my blunders afford as much amusement to any one else as to me; when I’m made aware of them.”

“Nettie King is married, papa,” said Elsie.

“Ah!  Lottie also?”

“No, she’s at home and will be in, with her father and mother, this evening,” said Aunt Wealthy.  “I’ve been matching to make a hope between her and Harry, but find it’s quite useless.”

“No, we’re the best of friends, but don’t care to be anything more,” remarked the young gentleman, coloring and laughing.

“No,” said Mr. Travilla, “it is said by some one that two people with hair and eyes of the same color should beware of choosing each other as partners for life.”

“And I believe it,” returned Harry.  “Lottie and I are too much alike in disposition.  I must look for a blue-eyed, fair-haired maiden, whose mental and moral characteristics will supply the deficiencies in mine.”

“Gray eyes and brown; that will do very well, won’t it?” said the old lady absently, glancing from Elsie to Mr. Travilla and back again.

Both smiled, and Elsie cast down her eyes with a lovely blush, while Mr. Travilla answered cheerily, “We think so, Miss Stanhope.”

“Call me Aunt Wealthy; almost everybody does, and you might as well begin now as any time.”

“Thank you, I shall avail myself of the privilege in future.”

The weather was warm for the time of year, and on leaving the table the whole party repaired to the front porch, where Harry quickly provided every one with a seat.

“That is a beautiful maple yonder,” remarked Mr. Travilla.

“Yes, sir,” returned Harry; “we have a row of them all along the front of the lot; and as Mrs. Dauber says, they are ‘perfectly gordeous’ in the fall.”

“The maple is my favorite among the shade leaves,” remarked Miss Stanhope, joining in the talk, “from the time it trees out in the spring till the bare become branches in the fall.  Through this month and next they’re a perpetual feast to the eye.”

“Aunt, how did you decide in regard to that investment you wrote to consult me about?” asked Mr. Dinsmore, turning to her.

“Oh, I concluded to put in a few hundreds, as you thought it safe, on the principle of not having all my baskets in one egg.”

“Small baskets they would have to be, auntie,” Harry remarked quietly.

“Yes, my eggs are not so many, but quite enough for an old lady like me.”

As the evening shadows crept over the landscape the air began to be chilly, and our friends adjourned to the parlor.

Here all was just as when Elsie last saw it; neat as wax, everything in place, and each feather-stuffed cushion beaten up and carefully smoothed to the state of perfect roundness in which Miss Stanhope’s soul delighted.

Mrs. Travilla, who had heard descriptions of the room and its appointments from both her son and Elsie, looked about her with interest:  upon the old portraits, the cabinet of curiosities, and the wonderful sampler worked by Miss Wealthy’s grandmother.  She examined with curiosity the rich embroidery of the chair cushions, but preferred a seat upon the sofa.