It was fortunate that Jane had never married. Her continual worry lest a particle of dust adhere to table or chair, her constant picking up of book, or shawl, or gloves, if anything were left for a moment out of place, would have made her an annoyance to any man who wished to enjoy his home. If a picture had been painted of Jane Holcomb, it would not have been complete without a broom in her hand. There was one good servant in the house who kept things reasonably neat, but Jane was forever cleaning. If she had married, and had been the mother of children, probably she would have been less fussy, and a pleasanter woman to live with. Both women idolized the bright nephew, Justus, who loved his aunts in the abstract, but usually kept as far away from Aunt Jane’s broom as possible. He was a handsome young fellow, cheery, cordial, earnest, sympathetic, and withal possessed of excellent common-sense. He had just graduated from a medical school, and was coming home for a visit to the aunts. Jane swept and dusted more than ever, till the carpets and furniture would have protested, if that were possible. Nancy grew fresher and better in health from the expected arrival. Finally the young man came, and was kissed and petted as young men are apt to be by women older than themselves. Aunt Jane looked him over from head to foot. Yes, he was clean and attractive, even to her practised eye. “Now, Justus,” she said, as they were sitting by the open fire after supper, “tell your aunts about the love matter which we hear of. I think this lady is a little older than you.” Jane controlled herself and became diplomatic, because a young man cannot usually be driven, but must be gently led. “If you mean Miss Watterson—yes, she is a charming woman. She is thirty-five, just ten years older than I. I confess she attracts me more than any of the girls of my own age. She is not handsome, but very intelligent, has read widely, and is a noble woman.” “But you surely would be the subject of much remark in society if you married her. And we are so proud of you, Justus, we naturally wish you could marry rich, and some one who could help you in your profession. You know a woman can help to make her husband popular or unpopular.” “I know it, aunt; but, after all, I need the right kind of companionship when I marry. I have not decided the matter yet, and perhaps I shall grow wiser.” “You must not forget also, Justus, that as a rule a woman grows old faster than a man, or she used to. I cannot say that she does exactly in this new age, when American men are killing themselves in business, and the women are living in luxury. But when you are forty-five and in your prime, your wife will be fifty-five; and the disparity will be more apparent then than now. Besides, you will see so many attractive faces in your profession.” “That would not influence me, Aunt Jane. If I loved her once, I should hope to be man enough to love her always. But I will wait awhile before I”—