“Dr. Beaton goes upon the new-fashioned rules, my dear,” said Mrs. Lennox. “It never keeps me from my sleep; nothing does that, thank God. It is the young people that are so delicate nowadays, that can’t take this and that. I wonder if John has any news of Dr. Beaton. He had a great many fads like that about the tea, but he was very nice. What a comfort he was to poor Reginald, and took so much anxiety off Gra--” “I declare,” Aunt Sophy cried, coloring and coughing, “I have caught cold, though I have not been out of the house since the cold weather set in. My dear, I am so sorry,” she added in an undertone; “I know I should not have said a word--” “I have never been of that opinion,” said Rosalind, shaking her head sadly. “I think you are all taking the wrong way.” “For Heaven’s sake don’t say a word, Rosalind; with John coming in, and that little thing with ears as sharp--” “Is it me that have ears so sharp, Aunt Sophy? It is funny to hear you talk. You think I don’t know anything, but I know everything. I know why Roland Hamerton is always coming here; and I know why Mr. Blake never comes, but only the old gentleman. And, Rosalind, you had better make up your mind and take some one, for you are getting quite _passée_, and you will soon be an old maid.” “Sophy! if you insult your sister--” “Do you think that is insulting me?” Rosalind said. “I believe I shall be an old maid. That would suit me best, and it would be best for the children, who will want me for a long time.” “My dear,” said Aunt Sophy, solemnly, “there are some things I will never consent to, and one of them is, a girl like you making such a sacrifice. That is what I will never give in to. Oh, go away, Sophy, you are a perfect nuisance! No, no, I will never give in to it. For such a sacrifice is always repented of. When the children grow up they will not be a bit grateful to you; they will never think it was for them you did it. They will talk of you as if it was something laughable, and as if you could not help it. An old maid! Yes, it is intended for an insult, and I won’t have it, any more than I will have you do it, Rosalind.” “Oh, Uncle John,” cried the _enfant terrible_, “there is Aunt Sophy with tears in her eyes because I said Rosalind was going to be an old maid. But it is not anything so very dreadful, is it? Why, Uncle John, you are an old maid.” “I don’t think Rosalind’s prospects need distress you, Sophy,” said Uncle John. “We can take care of her in any case. She will not want your valuable protection.” “Oh, I was not thinking of myself; I don’t mind at all,” said Sophy; “but only she is getting rather old. Don’t you see a great difference, Uncle John? She is in her twenty-first year.” “I shall not lose hope till she has completed her thirty-third,” said Uncle John. “You may run away, Sophy; you are young enough, fortunately, to be sent to bed.”