"And then, watching your career, Nancibel, dear, I live over my own life. Think of it, dear, when I was young in those years after the rebellion ... Mary Ann, Miss Taylor will take her coffee in the other room." "Yessum." Aunt M. got to her feet, brushing a few crumbs off her silk dress and went through the portieres into the parlor. Nan glanced at herself in the mirror over the mantel as she followed. How pale I look tonight, she thought. "When I was young in those years after the rebellion, Boston was a very busy place. And we were all so sanguine for the future. But now, even if I were strong enough, I would go out very little. It all seems so strange and ugly to me. And where is it going, this hideous chase after money?" "I find a sort of splendor in it," said Nan brutally. They sat side by side on the curvebacked sofa, Nan with a small coffee cup in one hand. "I'm happier indoors. But even here there's no real peace. The traffic on Beacon Street is so distressing." "Marblehead would be a nice place to live." "O, no, you wouldn't have me leave this house, would you, Nancibel, dear? This is my home. Do you remember in Mr. Emerson's poem..." Why seek Italy? Who cannot circumnavigate the sea Of thoughts and things at home? "I feel that way about this house. Why since I lived in my mother's house I haven't lived anywhere else. How well I remember the first excitement of having a home of my own." "When was that, Aunt M.?" "I have never told you, have I? It was after I decided I would never marry." Aunt M. paused. Mary Ann rustled in to take the tray of coffee things. "Anything else tonight, mum?" "No, I won't need anything more. Good night, Mary Ann." "Good night, mum." "Nan, it's a long time since you brought Mr. Macdougan in to see me." "He's very busy this year. He's giving a course of his own." "A very clever young man, Nancibel ... But I was telling you about the events that led up to my taking this house. It was something very near to me, which I have told to very few." Aunt M. turned towards Nan and let her voice drop to a shaky whisper. Her eyes seemed strangely large and young and tremulous, staring out of the yellow wrinkled face. "I had engaged myself when very young--we were more precocious in those days--to a youth of good family and connections. You've even met him, but I shall not tell you who he is. We decided to wait several years before marrying, and in the meantime there was not a dance or party in Boston suitable to a young girl where I was not to be found merry with the merriest." People in crinolines bowing low and dancing to waltzes by Auber; our generation is different from that. We count more. Music welling out from the broken moulds of old customs. We are really breaking away seeking something genuine; true culture. Aunt M. wouldn't believe if I tried to explain.