“I really don’t know,” said Margaret, a little uneasily. “Not as we usually see it, certainly. I suppose under the very best conditions marriage is the happiest life--but I know nothing about it.” “I am quite sure it is the happiest life,” said Alan, “for both men and women, and it is the greatest possible mistake to put it off too long. Don’t be too fastidious as to conditions, Margaret, and too high-flown in your notions. Mutual liking and respect, and congeniality of tastes are a good enough foundation--the rest will follow. A cheerful disposition is an immense consideration, and that you have. You will always make the best of whatever comes. I don’t think I ever saw a woman better fitted for matrimony.” He spoke so earnestly and looked at her with such intentness, that Margaret felt herself somewhat ill at ease, and was relieved when the door burst open and Decourcy came running in. “Auntie Mard’rit, Ethel says you’re not my really auntie,” he said, wofully; “you is, now--ain’t you, Auntie Mard’rit?” “I love you just the same as if I were, Dee,” said Margaret, lifting him to her knee. “I couldn’t be your real auntie, you know, because I’m not your mother’s or your father’s sister. Can you understand that?” “But Mrs. Gregg is Jack and Cora’s auntie,” said Amy, who had come to take part in the discussion, “and she’s not their mamma’s sister or their papa’s either; she only married their uncle.” “And if Margaret married your uncle, she would be your really auntie, too,” said Alan, quietly. “She could settle the whole matter, if she would, and don’t you think she might? I do.” “Oh! Auntie Mard’rit, won’t you please marry uncle?” cried Amy, imploringly, while Dee, partially seizing the idea, repeated faintly: “Auntie Mard’rit, peese marry uncle.” “Run away, children,” said Margaret, provoked to feel herself blushing. “Alan, how can you put such nonsense into their heads?” “I am afraid it is but too true that you consider it nonsense,” he said, with a gravity that surprised her. Immediately afterward he left the room, and Margaret found herself alone with the children, who insisted on pushing the question to its remotest issue with a persistency that was almost distracting. After this it was impossible but that she should realize that her cousin was studying her with a purpose. She could hardly suppose that he thought seriously of asking her to marry him, and yet the interest he displayed in trying to direct her opinions pointed that way. She made a strong effort to shake off the idea. Its deliberateness shocked her. Charming as her cousin was, his calm philosophicalness often irritated her, and she was at times inclined to believe him cold-blooded and selfish, until perhaps, just afterward, some act of kindness to herself or his sister or the children made her heartily ashamed of this suspicion. And, indeed, it was an easy thing to judge Alan Decourcy kindly. So he kept his place as a trusty and beloved kinsman.