“There’s some people in the world now that would be a good sight better off out of it, for themselves and other folks,” said Sylvia.

“Then you don’t think anybody ought to get married?”

“If folks want to be fools, let them.  Nothing I can say is going to stop them, but I’ll miss my guess if some of the girls that get married had the faintest idea what they were going into they would stop short, if it sent them over a rail-fence.  Folks can’t tell girls everything, but marriage is an awful risk, an awful risk.  And I say, as I said before, any girl who has got enough to live on is a fool to get married.”

“But I don’t see why, after all.”

“Because she is,” replied Sylvia.

This time Rose did not attempt to bruise herself against the elder woman’s imperturbability.  She did not look convinced, but again the troubled expression came over her face.

“I am glad you relished your supper,” said Sylvia.

“It was very nice,” replied Rose, absently.  Suddenly the look of white horror which had overspread her countenance on the night of her arrival possessed it again.

“What on earth is the matter?” cried Sylvia.

“I almost remembered, then,” gasped the girl.  “You know what I told you the night I came.  Don’t let me remember, Aunt Sylvia.  I think I shall die if I ever do.”

Sylvia was as white as the girl, but she rose briskly.  “There’s nothing to remember,” she said.  “You’re nervous, but I’m going to make some of that root-beer of mine to-morrow.  It has hops in it, and it’s real quieting.  Now you stop worrying, and wait a minute.  I’ve got something to show you.  Here, you look at this book you’ve been reading, and stop thinking.  I’ll be back in a minute.  I’ve just got to step into the other chamber.”

Sylvia was back in a moment.  She never was obliged to hesitate for a second as to the whereabouts of any of her possessions.  She had some little boxes in her hand, and one rather large one under her arm.  Rose looked at them with interest.  “What is it, Aunt Sylvia?” said she.

Sylvia laughed.  “Something to show you that belongs to you,” she said.

“Why, what have you got that belongs to me, Aunt Sylvia?”

“You wait a minute.”

Sylvia and Rose both stood beside the white dressing-table, and Sylvia opened the boxes, one after another, and slowly and impressively removed their contents, and laid them in orderly rows on the white dimity of the table.  The lamplight shone on them, and the table blazed like an altar with jewelled fires.  Rose gasped.  “Why, Aunt Sylvia!” said she.

“All these things belonged to your aunt Abrahama, and now they belong to you,” said Sylvia, in a triumphant tone.

“Why, but these are perfectly beautiful things!”

“Yes; I don’t believe anybody in East Westland ever knew she had them.  I don’t believe she could have worn them, even when she was a girl, or I should have heard of them.  I found them all in her bureau drawer.  She didn’t even keep them under lock and key; but then she never went out anywhere, and if nobody even knew she had them, they were safe enough.  Now they’re all yours.”