I found this speech a little damping, but I bore it without flinching.  One can never set out down some new road without a few friendly missiles flying about one’s ears.  “Remember, I told you such and such a thing would happen if you did not take my advice.  I am only warning you for your good.”  Alas! that one’s dearest friend should be transformed into a teasing gad-fly!  What can one do but go straight across the enemy’s country when the boats are destroyed behind one?  I always did think that a grand action on Xenophon’s part.

“You have not given me your opinion of my new mistress,” was my wicked rejoinder.

Aunt Agatha drew herself up at this and put on her grandest manner.  “You need not go out of your way to vex me, Merle.  I am sufficiently humiliated without that.”

“Aunt Agatha,” I remonstrated; for this was too much for my forbearance, “do you think I would do anything to vex you when we are to part in a few days?  Oh, you dear, silly woman!” for she was actually crying, “I am only longing to know what you think of Mrs. Morton.”

“She is perfectly lovely, Merle,” she returned, drying her eyes, as I kissed and coaxed her.  “I very nearly fell in love with her myself.  I liked the simple way in which she sat down and talked to me about my old pupils, making herself quite at home in our little drawing-room, and I was much pleased with her manner when she spoke about you; it was almost a pity you came into the room just then.”

“I left you alone for nearly half an hour; please to remember that.”

“Indeed! it did not seem nearly so long.  Half an hour! and it passed so quickly, too.  Well, I must say Mrs. Morton is a most interesting woman; she is full of intelligence, and yet so gentle.  She has lost her baby—­did she tell you that? only four months ago, and her husband does not like her to wear mourning.  She is a devoted wife, I can see that, but I have a notion that you will have some difficulty in satisfying Mr. Morton; he is very particular and hard to please.”

“I have found out that for myself; he is a man of strong prejudices.”

“Well, you must do your best to conciliate him; tact goes a long way in these cases.  Mrs. Morton has evidently taken a fancy to you, Merle.  She told me over again how her baby boy had made friends with you at once; she said your manner was very frank and winning, and though you looked young you seemed very staid and self-reliant.”

“I wish Uncle Keith had heard that.  Did she say any more about me, Aunt Agatha?”

“No, you interrupted us at that point, and the conversation became more general; but, my dear, I must scold you about one thing:  how absurd you were to insist on wearing caps.  Mrs. Morton was quite embarrassed; she said she would never have mentioned such a thing.”

“But I have set my heart on wearing them, Aunt Agatha,” I returned, very quickly; “you have no idea how nice I shall look in a neat bib apron over my dark print gown, and a regular cap such as hospital nurses wear.  I should be quite disappointed if I did not carry out that part of my programme; the only thing that troubles me is the smallness of my salary—­I mean wages.  Thirty pounds a year will never make my fortune.”