“Bless you, my dear boy,” she said.  Then, rising, she went behind his chair, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead; then, pulling a chair close to him, she went on:  “I haven’t spoken to you of her, Quincy, because I have had no opportunity until now.  I’ve fallen in love with her myself.  I am a physiognomist as well as a phrenologist.  Robert taught me the principles.  She’s almost divinely lovely.  I say almost, for, of course, she’ll be still lovelier when she goes to Heaven.  Her well-shaped head indicates a strong, active, inventive mind, while her pure heart and clean soul are mirrored in her sweet face.  She is a good foil for you, Quincy.  You are almost dark enough for a Spaniard or an Italian, while she is Goethe’s ideal Marguerite.”

It was not necessary for Quincy to ask to whom she referred, nor to praise her powers of discernment.  It was Aunt Ella’s time for talking, and she was not inclined to brook any interference.  So she went on.

“I want you to bring her here to me and have Rosa What-d’yer-call-her come with her.  Here they can work and play until you get the nest ready for her down to Nantucket.  You say she plays and sings.  I love music passionately, but I can’t play a note, even on a jew’s-harp; but if she plays a wrong note I shall feel inclined to call her attention to it.  When I used to go to the theatre with Robert, I delighted in telling him how badly some of the members of the orchestra were playing, but I repented of it.  He got in the habit of going out between the acts to escape the music, he said, and I never could keep him in his seat after that.”

Quincy laughed heartily at this.  “I see no way of stopping this bad habit that gentlemen have of going out between the acts,” said he, “unless you ladies combine, and insist on a higher grade of orchestral excellence.”

“I have a large library,” continued Aunt Ella, “and she may find many books in it that will be of use to her.  Robert spent eighteen thousand dollars on it, and I’ve bought a couple of thousand dollars’ worth more since his death.  Now, what do you say, Quincy?  You know I will do all in my power to make her comfortable and happy while she is here.  If Maude runs up, and she’s the only one that is likely to, I will tell her that I have friends here from England.  I will keep her out of the way.  Will you bring her?”

“If she will come, I will,” Quincy replied.

“You will never repent it,” said Aunt Ella.  “Now let us go upstairs.”

When they reached her room the cigars and cigarettes were again in requisition.

“I kept my promise the other day, Quincy,” said she, “when the three girls were here.  What a sweet, rosy-cheeked, healthy, happy trio they were!  I wasn’t more than twenty myself that day.  I give you my solemn promise, Quincy, that I won’t smoke a cigarette nor drink a glass of wine while Alice is here,—­until after she goes to bed; and then I’ll eat a clove and air the room out thoroughly before I let her in in the morning.”