"Oh well!--stop here, please; no, I won't get down, Jonas sees me; he will be out directly, with the parcel--you must see, Henry, that Alan has changed, even since--" "Alan, let me tell you of a bill our friend Jonas, here, who is a bit of a horse-jockey, as well as local confectioner and pastry-cook, sent in recently to your aunt. He had been selling her a mate to her chestnut, and the account ran this way: "'MRS. H. GERVASE TO I. JONAS, DR. 1 lb. lady-fingers $ 0.30 One horse 250.00 ½ lb. cream peppermints 0.20 ------ Total, $250.50'" Grove was glad to cover his various discomforts with a laugh. But he did not find it easy to elude the vigilance of Mrs. Gervase, who bided her time until an opportunity presented itself for an uninterrupted talk with him. "Stretch yourself out on that bamboo couch, and let me put the pillows in," she said, when they two adjourned to the veranda, in the twilight after dinner. "It is such fun to have a boy to cosset once more, with my own lads at college, and three weeks to wait before I can get Tom and Louis back from New London after the boat-race." "You have such an inspired faculty for making men comfortable," Grove remarked, from the depths of his _bien-être_. "Custom, I suppose. An only daughter, with a father and three brothers to wait upon till I married, and a husband and two sons to impose on me since. I should not know how to handle girls. I like them, of course,--find them all very well in their way,--but they bother me. Perhaps it is that there are no old-fashioned girls any more--no young ones, certainly. They come into the world like Minerva from Jove's brain. They are so learned, or clever, or worldly-wise, read everything, see everything, hear everything discussed, have no illusions--but, there, I can't explain my preference. Men are captious, obstinate, whimsical, by turns; disappoint one continually in little things--but in the main they are so broad and big; scatter nonsense into thin air; are so loyal and unswerving to their beliefs; know where they stand, and, having made up their minds to action, do not change." "In short," remarked Grove, "you are like the little servant-maid in Cranford, when they told her to hand the potatoes to the ladies first. 'I'll do as you bid me, ma'am, but I like the lads best.' My dearest auntie, there must be guardian angels specially appointed to look after our sex, and you are one of them. This is the age and America is the field for the unchecked efflorescence of young womankind. But when the conversation takes on this complexion, I feel it to be unfair not to allow the defendant the assistance of counsel; though, even if Uncle Henry were here, I am sure we should both be demolished speedily."