Aunt Elizabeth began to flush pink and then scarlet.  She looked as pretty as a rose, but a little angry, I thought.  She put up her head rather haughtily.  “Mrs. Chataway is very eccentric,” she said.  “A genius, quite a genius in her own line.  Ada, I won’t come down to luncheon.  This has been sufficient.  Let me have some tea in my own room at four, please.”  She got up, and her letter and one of the cards fell to the floor.  I picked them up for her, and I saw on the card: 

        Mrs. Ronald Chataway
   Magnetic Healer and Mediumistic Divulger
       Lost Articles a Specialty

I don’t know why, but I thought, like mother and Aunt Elizabeth, “Well, of all things!”

But the rest of that day mother and I were too busy to exchange a word about Mrs. Chataway or even Aunt Elizabeth.  We plunged into my preparations to sail, and talked dresses and hats, and ran ribbons in things, and I burned letters and one photograph (I burned that without looking at it), and suddenly mother got up quickly and dropped her lapful of work.  “My stars!” said she, “I’ve forgotten Aunt Elizabeth’s tea.”

“It’s of no consequence, dear,” said Aunt Elizabeth’s voice at the door.  “I asked Katie to bring it up.”

“Why,” said mother, “you’re not going?”

I held my breath.  Aunt Elizabeth looked so pretty.  She was dressed, as I never saw her before, a close-fitting black gown and a plain white collar and a little close black hat.  She looked almost like some sister of charity.

“Ada,” said she, “and Peggy, I am going to tell you something, and it is my particular desire that you keep it from the whole family.  They would not understand.  I am going to ally myself with Mrs. Chataway in a connection which will lead to the widest possible influence for her and for me.  In Mrs. Chataway’s letter to-day she urges me to join her.  She says I have enormous magnetism and—­and other qualifications.”

“Don’t you want me to tell Cyrus?” said mother.  She spoke quite faintly.

“You can simply tell Cyrus that I have gone to Mrs. Chataway’s,” said Aunt Elizabeth.  “You can also tell him I shall be too occupied to return.  Good-bye, Ada.  Good-bye, Peggy.  Remember, it is the bruised herb that gives out the sweetest odor.”

Before I could stop myself I had laughed, out of happiness, I think.  For I remembered how the spearmint had smelled in the garden when Stillman Dane and I stepped on it in the dark and how bright the moon was, and I knew nobody could be unhappy very long.

“I telephoned for a carriage,” said Aunt Elizabeth.  “There it is.”  She and mother were going down the stairs, and suddenly I felt I couldn’t have her go like that.

“Oh, Aunt—­Aunt Lily!” I called.  “Stop!  I want to speak to you.”  I ran after her.  “I’m going to have a profession, too,” I said.  “I’m going to devote my life to it, and I am just as glad as I can be.”  I put my arms round her and kissed her on her soft, pink cheeks, and we both cried a little.  Then she went away.