The carriage was driving up the broad avenue that led to the Roberts house; it was a drive of a minute or two, however, and so Aunt Polly had time for a hasty explanation. “It was over twenty years ago,” she said, “before your mother was married, and when our family had a camp up in the Adirondacks; there were only two others near us, and in each of them there was a young man about my age. We three were great friends for three or four years, but we've never seen each other since till a short while ago.” “And one of them is this man?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Roberts; “his name is David Howard; I met him quite by accident the other day, and recognized him. He lives all alone, in the winter in New York somewheres, and in the summer up at the same place in the mountains; he's the most romantic man you ever met, and I know you'll find him interesting. He's a poet, I fancy, or a musician at any rate, and he's a very great scholar.” “Is he rich too?” asked the girl, laughing. “I fancy not,” was the reply, “but I can't tell; he lives very plainly.” “Aren't you afraid I'll fall in love with him, Auntie?” “No,” said the other, smiling to herself; “I'm not worrying about that.” “Why not?” “Wait till you see him, my dear,” was the reply; “if you choose him for a husband I'll give my consent.” “That sounds mysterious,” observed the girl, gazing at her aunt; “tell me, is he here now?” “Yes,” said Aunt Polly; “he's been here a day or two; but I don't think you'll see him at dinner, because he has been feeling unwell today; he may be down a while this evening, for I've been telling him about you, and he's anxious to see you. You must be nice to him, Helen, and try to feel as sorry for him as I do.” “Sorry for him?” echoed the girl with a start. “Yes, my dear, he is an invalid, with some very dreadful affliction.” And Helen stared at her aunt. “An affliction!” she cried. “Aunt Polly, that is horrible! What in the world did you invite an invalid for at this time, with all the other people? I _hate_ invalids!” “I had asked him before,” was the apologetic reply, “and so I couldn't help it. I had great difficulty in getting him to promise to come anyway, for he's a very strange, solitary man. But I wanted to have my little romance, and renew our acquaintance, and this was the only time the third party could come.” “Oh, the third one is here too?” “He will be in a day or two.” “Who is he?” “His name is Lieutenant Maynard, and he's in the navy; he's stationed at Brooklyn just now, but he expects to get leave for a while.” “That is a little better,” Helen remarked, as the carriage was drawing up in front of the great house. “I'd marry a naval officer.” “No,” laughed Aunt Polly; “he leaves a wife and some children in Brooklyn. We three are going to keep to ourselves and talk about old times and what has happened to us since then, and so you young folks will not be troubled by us.”