Cousin Lorando Bean balanced his cup on his broad palm and gazed about appreciatively at the casts and water-colors on the dull green walls. “Very snug little quarters, these,” he volunteered, “but, do you know, Cousin Jule, I suppose it's all right for ladies, but I don't seem to breathe extra well in these little rooms, somehow! I've been in two or three of them like this, more or less, since I came to New York--people I used to know that I've been hunting up--and, by George, I began to feel as if I was getting red in the face, if you see what I mean.” “Yes, indeed, Cousin Lorando, I do,” returned Miss Trueman eagerly, “I see exactly. And not having any cellar--you've no idea! Nor any attic, either. And often and often we have the gas lighted all through breakfast. Of course there are a great many conveniences,” she added loyally, “and there's no doubt it saves steps. But I almost think I'd rather take 'em.” He nodded. “What's become of the old place, Cousin Jule? I judge you've been out of it some time?” “Two years, Cousin Lorando. The girls had been boarding up to then, and when Aunt Martha died they got up this plan for me to come down and live with them, for they couldn't afford it quite, alone, and then I could chaperon them.” Aunt Julia delivered herself of this phrase with a certain complacency. Mr. Bean looked up sharply. “That means that nobody gets a show to abduct 'em while you're around, I take it?” he inquired. “We-ell, not exactly,” she demurred. “But that's the idea? I thought so. Yes. How old is Lizzie now? Thirty?” “Oh, no, Cousin Lorando; L---- Elise isn't twenty-nine yet. Carolyn is about thirty.” “I don't seem to recall any one chaperoning you and Hattie when you were thirty,” he suggested thoughtfully. She laughed involuntarily. “Oh, Hattie was married, Cousin Lorando, and the children were ten years old! And, anyway, it was different then.” “The girls were just as pretty, I guess,” he insisted. “And there were plenty of buggies, if anybody had designs.” There was a pause, and the buzz of voices from the other room rose loudly. “They've neither of them got their mother's looks,” he observed; and then, with apparent irrelevance: “When will they be considered safe to go about alone?” “I don't know exactly what you mean,” she began a little coldly, but his laugh reassured her. “Oh, yes, you do,” he contradicted, “and don't you be getting cross at your Cousin Lorando Bean! You know I always loved to tease you; it made your eyes snap--and it does now.” “How can you?” She looked reproachfully at him. “And I tell you this, Cousin Jule: neither of those girls will ever get up a color like that!” She shook her head, but she was not displeased. He took out a fat chocolate-colored cigar and fingered it wistfully. “I suppose I mustn't smoke?” he queried. Her quick answer surprised herself. “I should hope you could, if that woman can!” “Which one?”