There are so many symptoms which, in a young woman, may seem to indicate the disease of love that one making a hasty diagnosis is likely to fall upon that malady, it being prevalent in spring, both of the year and of life.  I had believed that my cousin’s healthful vanity and quiet strength of character would, in a measure, keep her safe from this troublesome spring disorder, but my uncle’s account of her doings led me to fear that perhaps her wholesome armor of self-conceit was not so invulnerable as I had hoped.

Later I spoke my half-formed doubt to Sarah, who answered:—­

“I don’t know what she is doing.  I attend to my own business; that is, unless I see profit in meddling elsewhere.”

“Ah, but this is your business and mine if we love your sister, as you will say when you learn the object of my visit,” I answered, hoping to loosen her cautious tongue.

Sarah’s eyes opened wide with a question in them, but her lips remained sealed, and I would not satisfy her curiosity, which I knew was at boiling-point, until she had made a direct request.  Her manner had resolved my doubts into fears, so as she did not speak, I continued:—­

“But you must be able to form an opinion as to what your sister is doing.  You are with her all the time, and every young girl instinctively knows the symptoms of love, even though she may never have felt them.”

“Not I!” she answered, with sharp emphasis.

“Oh, but you may suspect or surmise,” I insisted.

“Suspect sometimes.  Surmise never.  Waste of energy,” answered Sarah, who, of all the persons I knew, had energy to spare.

“It would be a crime, a horrible crime,” I continued, hoping in time to extract her opinion, “if your beautiful sister were to throw herself away on any man to be met hereabout.”

“Horrible!” acquiesced Sarah, earnestly.

“Then why don’t you watch her, and, if need be, prevent such a mistake?” I suggested.

“Not necessary,” answered Sarah.

As she failed to explain, I asked, “Why is it not necessary?”

“Because she is not a fool,” returned Sarah, indicating by her manner that I might find her meaning if I could.

A moment’s thought carried me to her conclusions, and I laughed because I was answered and pleased, being convinced that Sarah, at least, did not consider her sister in danger.  Then I caught Sarah in my arms and kissed her, saying:—­

“A kiss!  That’s for wisdom, cousin!” Sarah’s was a drawing personality.

“A slap!  That’s for impudence!” answered Sarah, suiting the action to the word, though there was a smile in her eyes.

Later in the afternoon Frances came home radiant and offered me her cheek to kiss.  She was delighted to see me, though I noticed short lapses from attention, which seemed to indicate preoccupation.  But I had learned my lesson from Sarah and soon came back to my belief that Frances was not a fool, and that whatever malady her symptoms might indicate, she would never permit it to inure her.