“Of New York—­I see!” said she, but more as if speaking to herself than to him.  “Tony’s father; he’s written to you, and you’ve come all the way from New York to break it off.  I see!” Desperation seemed to seize her.  “Oh, my heavenly day!” she ejaculated.  “Why didn’t I think of this?  This serves me right, you know,” she said seriously, bringing her attention to bear fully upon Anthony; “but let me tell you, Mr. Fox, that this is about the worst thing you could have done!”

“The worst!” said Anthony, dully.

He felt utterly stupefied.

“Absolutely,” said she, calmly.  “You know you only hasten a thing like this by making an out-and-out fight of it.  That’s no way to stop it!”

“Are you Miss Mix?” said Anthony, feebly.

“I am.”  She nodded impatiently.  “Sarah Mix.”

“Then you and my son—­” Anthony pursued patiently.  “Didn’t he write?  Aren’t you—­”

“Engaged?  Certainly we are,” admitted the lady, with dignity.  “And it would no more than serve you right if we got married, after all!” she added, with a sudden smile.

Anthony liked the smile.  He smiled broadly in return.

“If you got married!  Do you mean you don’t intend to?”

“I see I’ll have to tell you,” said Miss Mix, suddenly casting hesitation to the winds.  “Then we can talk.  Yes, we’re engaged, Mr. Fox.  What else could I do?  Anthony’s twenty; one can’t treat him quite as if he were six.  He’s absolutely unable to take care of himself; and I’ve always liked him—­always!  How could I see a girl like Mollie Temple—­but of course you don’t know her.  She’s with the ‘Giddy Middy’ company, playing in San Francisco now.”

“No, I don’t know her,” said Mr. Fox, stiffly.

“Well,” continued Miss Mix, “her mother lives here in Palo Alto, and Mollie came home for September.  Tony was just what she was looking for.  A secret marriage, a sensational divorce, and alimony—­Mollie asks nothing more of Fate!  She made him her slave.”

“Lord!” said Anthony.

“Every one was talking about it,” continued Miss Mix; “but I never dreamed of interfering until Thanksgiving, when the Temples planned a week’s house-party in Santa Cruz, and asked Tony to go.  That would have settled it; so I managed to see Tony, and from that day on I may say I never let go of him.  I took him about, I accompanied him when he sang—­just big-sistered him generally!  I’m thirty-two, you know, and I never dreamed he would—­but he did.  New Year’s night, Mr. Fox.  Well, then I either had to say no, and let him go again, or say yes, and hold him.  So I said yes.  I couldn’t stop him from planning, and I never dreamed he’d write you!  Now, do you begin to see?”

“I see,” said Anthony, huskily.

He cleared his throat.

“Meanwhile,” pursued Miss Mix, glowing delightedly in the sympathy of her listener, “I introduced him to the Rogerses and the Peppers, and lots of jolly people, who are doing him a world of good.  He goes about—­he’s developing.  And now, just as I began to hope that the time had come when we could quietly break off our engagement, here you are, to make him feel in honor bound to stick to it!”