“I never saw such a child,” said Miss Cordelia, watching her start with her father down the hill a few minutes later.  “And the worst of it is, I think we are partly to blame for it.”

“Cordelia!” said Miss Patty.  “How?”

“I mean in keeping her surrounded so completely with old people.  When everything is said and done, dear, it isn’t natural.”

“But we would miss her so much if we sent her to school—­”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of sending her to school—­”

Miss Patty was quiet for a time.

“If we could find some one of her own age,” she said at last, “whom she could play with, and talk with—­some one who would lead her thoughts into more natural channels—­”

This question of companionship for Mary puzzled the two Miss Spencers for nearly a year, and then it was settled, as so many things are, in an unexpected manner.

In looking up the genealogy of the Spicer family, Miss Patty discovered that a distant relative in Charleston had just died, leaving a daughter behind him—­an orphan—­who was a year older than Mary.  Correspondence finally led Miss Patty to make the journey, and when she returned she brought with her a dark-eyed girl who might have been the very spirit of youthful romance.

“My dear,” said Miss Patty, “this is your cousin Helen.  She is going to make us a long visit, and I hope you will love each other very much.”

The two cousins studied each other.  Then in her shy way Mary held out her hand.

“Oh, I love you already!” said Helen impulsively, and hugged her instead.  That evening they exchanged confidences and when Miss Cordelia heard about this, she questioned Mary and enjoyed herself immensely.

“And then what did she ask you?” finally inquired Miss Cordelia, making an effort to keep her face straight.

“She asked me if I had a beau, and I told her ‘No.’”

“And then what did she say?”

“She asked me if there was anything the matter with the boys around here, and I told her I didn’t know.”

“And then?”

“And then she said, ‘I’ll bet you I’ll soon find out.’  But just then Aunt Patty came in and we had to stop.”

Later Miss Patty came downstairs looking thoughtful and spoke to her sister in troubled secret.

“I’ve just been in Helen’s room,” she said, “and what do you think she has on her dresser?”

“I give it up,” replied Miss Cordelia in a very rich, voice.

“Three photographs of young men!”

The two sisters gazed at each other, quite overcome, and if you had been there you would have seen that if they had held fans in their hands, they would have fanned themselves with vigour.

“Didn’t you hear anything of this—­in Charleston?” asked Miss Cordelia at last.

“Not a word, my dear.  I heard she was very popular; that was all.”

“’Popular’...!”

“The one thing, perhaps, that we have never been.”