"Yes," assented Flint, "the heaviness of touch necessary to caricature spoils the effect." "Precisely," said Brady, "and it is as difficult to take off her looks as her manner. Her expression is too changeable to leave any characteristic fixed in the mind. The fact is, Miss Anstice is almost a beauty at times." "You think so?" responded Flint, with half-closed eyes. "Yes, I do really--in a way--not like that Madonna-type of Nora Costello." "No, certainly not like her." "But still she has a style of her own." "Oh, yes, quite so--as you say, she has a style of her own." "You are very cool on the subject; but you should have heard a man at the club go on about her, when he heard that we had spent our vacation at Nepaug." "I should scarcely think," said Flint, opening and closing his match-box with a quick, nervous movement, "that you would have allowed her name to come up at the club." "Oh, hang it, Flint, that is going pretty far! I don't know that Miss Anstice's name is too sacred to be mentioned in general society; and as for the club,--why, if it is not made up of gentlemen, what did you put me up for?" It was seldom that Brady got off so much of a speech, and he felt a little elated by seeing his friend without an answer for the moment. "Besides," he continued, "nothing was said, except about what a stunning girl she was. 'Handsomer than ever,' Livingston said, 'since she came home.'" "So the Anstices are at home?" "Yes, and Cousin Susan is coming down next week to visit them. She wrote me to be sure to call." "I shall try to go before Miss Standish arrives." Brady laughed. "You and Cousin Susan never did hit it off very well." "Excuse me, I think she hit me off very well; the fact is, the _femme sole_ after fifty becomes either pious or pugnacious. Miss Standish is both." "You are prejudiced, as usual, and malicious, too, under the guise of impartiality. Miss Standish is a benevolent woman, with an irresistible bent towards doing people good even against their will." Flint groaned assent. "Alas, yes," he muttered. "She is a fine woman," continued Brady, "and a fine-looking one too, as Dr. Cricket will testify, for on my soul I think the old duffer wants to marry her." "I wish he would, and rid the world of an officious old maid." "'Old maid' is an opprobrious term. Miss Standist is a well-preserved single woman." "Hold there, Brady! She is really not sugary enough for a preserve; I should say rather well canned. But never mind, I can forgive her some acidity toward myself, in consideration of her sweetness to Nora Costello. She has really been good to that girl."