“I didn’t think of that until you called my attention to it,” said Quincy gravely.

“And I didn’t believe it when I said it,” added Aunt Ella.  A few moments later she rang and ordered a light lunch.  When this was over she went to an old secretary with brass handles, opened a drawer, and took out a cigar box.

“I have a few of Robert’s cigars left,” she said.

Quincy took one and resumed his seat in the easy-chair.

Aunt Ella opened another drawer in the secretary and took out a pouch of tobacco, a package of rice paper and a box of wax tapers.  She put these articles on a small diamond-shaped table and placed the table between Quincy and herself.  She handed Quincy the match-box, then deftly rolling a cigarette, she lighted it, leaned back upon the lounge and blew rings of smoke into the air, which she watched until they broke.

“Do you think it’s horribly unbecoming for me to smoke?” she asked, looking at Quincy.

“Do you wish me to express my real thoughts?” replied Quincy, “or flatter you because you have money?”

Aunt Ella reddened a little, then said, “A good shot, Quincy, but I deserve it.  Go on.”

“Well, Aunt Ella,” said he, “you are the only woman whom I ever saw smoke who, in my opinion, knew how to do it gracefully.”

“I think you are sincere,” she rejoined, “and I beg pardon for wounding your feelings as I did before.  Give me your hand on it.”

They shook hands as two men would have done after settling differences.

Then she said, “Now draw your chair up closer, Quincy, and tell me what you’ve been doing, and what other people have been doing to you since the day before Christmas, the last time I set eyes on you until to-day.  You know I am your mother confessor.”

Quincy complied, and in his quiet, concise way gave her a full account of his doings in Eastborough, omitting nothing, concealing nothing.  If anything, he gave fuller details of his acquaintance with Huldy, Lindy, and Alice than he did of the other portions of his story.  He could not forbear to give at full length the account of his final settlement with the Professor.

Aunt Ella laughed heartily at some parts of the recital, and looked sorrowful and sympathetic when she listened to other portions.  She rolled and smoked half a dozen cigarettes during its continuance, and when she saw that Quincy had finished his cigar she placed the remainder of the box before him.

When he closed she said, “Quincy, you’re a brick.  I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for years.  I do so love anything that isn’t commonplace, and your experience is both novel and interesting.  What a dear old man Deacon Mason is, and Ezekiel Pettengill is a fine young fellow, honest and square.  That Hiram and Mandy must be a team.  Are they going to get married?”

“I think so,” said Quincy.  “He stammers, you know, and I think he is afraid he will break down when he tries to propose.”