"That's the place," assented his aunt. "Now, Quincy, I'll tell you just what I want you to do, and I want you to promise to do it before I say another word." "That's a woman's way," remarked Quincy, "of avoiding argument and preventing a free expression of opinion by interested parties; but I'll consent, only be merciful." "What I'm going to ask you to do, Quincy Sawyer, is for your good, and you'll own up that I've been more than a mother to you before I get through." "You always have been," said Quincy, seriously. "Of course, I love my mother in a way, but I'm never exactly comfortable when I'm with her. But when I'm with you, Aunt Ella, I'm always contented and feel perfectly at home." "Bless you, my dear boy," she said. Then, rising, she went behind his chair, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead; then, pulling a chair close to him, she went on: "I haven't spoken to you of her, Quincy, because I have had no opportunity until now. I've fallen in love with her myself. I am a physiognomist as well as a phrenologist. Robert taught me the principles. She's almost divinely lovely. I say almost, for, of course, she'll be still lovelier when she goes to Heaven. Her well-shaped head indicates a strong, active, inventive mind, while her pure heart and clean soul are mirrored in her sweet face. She is a good foil for you, Quincy. You are almost dark enough for a Spaniard or an Italian, while she is Goethe's ideal Marguerite." It was not necessary for Quincy to ask to whom she referred, nor to praise her powers of discernment. It was Aunt Ella's time for talking, and she was not inclined to brook any interference. So she went on. "I want you to bring her here to me and have Rosa What-d'yer-call-her come with her. Here they can work and play until you get the nest ready for her down to Nantucket. You say she plays and sings. I love music passionately, but I can't play a note, even on a jew's-harp; but if she plays a wrong note I shall feel inclined to call her attention to it. When I used to go to the theatre with Robert, I delighted in telling him how badly some of the members of the orchestra were playing, but I repented of it. He got in the habit of going out between the acts to escape the music, he said, and I never could keep him in his seat after that." Quincy laughed heartily at this. "I see no way of stopping this bad habit that gentlemen have of going out between the acts," said he, "unless you ladies combine, and insist on a higher grade of orchestral excellence."