The doctor made no objections, and ere long they were walking over the stony pavement towards R—— street, which, as Dell had said, was rather out of the way. The house, however, at which they stopped, was a pleasant little cottage, with a nicely-kept yard in front, while the parlor, into which they were shown, was quite tastefully furnished. Mrs. Marshall herself answered their ring, appearing greatly surprised when she saw them, but not more so than Doctor Clayton, who would never have recognized the dashing lady of Pine District in the plain-looking woman, who, in a cheap calico wrapper, unbrushed hair, and checked apron, now sat before him—his Aunt. And yet he could not help thinking her far more agreeable than he had ever seen her before. The truth was, that Mrs. Marshall was one of those weak-minded women who, being nothing at home, strove to make amends by “making believe” abroad; assuming everything in the latter and nothing in the former condition. Consequently, she, who in the country was proud and overbearing, affecting ignorance of the most trivial matters, was, at home, a comparatively quiet, domestic woman; doing her own work, and, aside from being a little jealous and envious of her more fortunate neighbors, generally minding her own business. After the first flutter of meeting the doctor was over, she became herself again, and set about entertaining them to the best of her ability, inviting them to stay with her to dinner, and urging as an inducement, that she was going to have “peaches and cream for dessert.” But Dell rather haughtily declined, whereupon her aunt asked “when she would come round and spend the day?” saying, “she must do so before long, or they might not be in that house.” “Not be in this house! Why not?” asked Dell; and Mrs. Marshall replied, “Why, you know, we have always rented it of _Mr. Lee_, and he talks of selling it.” Instantly the doctor thought of Rosa, and involuntarily repeated the name—“Lee—Lee”—— “Yes,” said Mrs. Marshall. “He has a brother in Meadow Brook, whom you may know.” “Is he wealthy?” asked the doctor. “Why, ye-es, I s’pose so,” said Mrs. Marshall, hesitatingly, as if unwilling to admit what she could not deny. “He lives in a big house on Beacon street—keeps his carriage—and they say the curtains in the front parlor cost a thousand dollars, and there are only two windows either.”