"What a little goose you are, Evelyn Edgham!" cried Aunt Maria, almost fiercely turning upon her. "Do you suppose if Maria Edgham had wanted any man she couldn't have got him?" "I suppose she could," said Evelyn meekly. "And I know Professor Lane is so much older, but he always seemed to like sister, and I didn't know but she felt badly because he was so ill." "Stuff!" said Aunt Maria. "Come, you had better set the table. I have got to make some biscuits for supper. They won't be any more than done by the time Maria gets back." "Did you think she looked so very pale?" asked Evelyn, following her aunt out of the room. "No, I didn't think she looked pale at all when I came to look at her," said Aunt Maria, sharply. "She looked just as she always does. It was the light." Aunt Maria unhesitatingly lied. She knew that her niece had been pale, and she believed that it was on account of Professor Lane. She thought to herself what fools girls were. There Maria had thrown away such a chance as George Ramsey, and was very likely breaking her heart in secret over this consumptive, old enough to be her father. Evelyn also believed, in her heart of hearts, that her sister was in love with Professor Lane, but she took a more sentimental view of the matter. She was of the firm opinion that love has no age, and then Professor Lane had never seemed exactly old to her, and he was a very handsome man. She thought of poor Maria with the tenderest pity and sympathy. It almost seemed to her that she herself was in love with Professor Lane, and that his going so far away to recover his health was a cruel blow to her. She thought of poor Maria walking to the post-office and brooding over her trouble, and her tender heart ached so hard that it might have been Maria's own.