"One night at a dance on Beacon Hill I was much struck by the appearance of a young man. I'd never seen any one so handsome before and to this day I have never seen the like of him ... Nancibel, I'm getting old. A year ago, even, I don't think I would have been able to tell you all this without my heart fluttering ... You are a dear girl to listen so attentively to your poor old aunt's reminiscences. Don't let me forget to go up to bed the minute the clock strikes ten." They were sitting side by side on the curvebacked sofa. The old woman had snuggled close to Nan and held her hand like a child listening to a ghost story. Nan's glance roamed nervously about the room. For a long while she stared at her Aunt's hand that lay pudgy and freckled, with swollen knuckles, in her slender white hand. "He was an Englishman named Verrey, though his skin was so dark everyone thought him an Italian. He paid court to me more charmingly than you can imagine. Every day of my life he sent me a great bunch of Malmaison roses. Without telling anyone, I broke off my engagement. Mother was dreadfully uneasy about me, and all the family hated young Verrey because he looked so foreign. I was nearly ill about him. O, Nancibel, you can't imagine how wonderful he was, so dashing and chivalrous. And so it kept up. I stopped going out and used to spend all day in my room thinking of him. My father forbade him the house, so that the only way I had of communicating with him was that a certain time each day I used to come to the window and he would walk slowly up and down the street in front of the house. I thought I'd cry my eyes out, he looked so sad and dejected. Then, to make a long story short, he came to see me one day when I was alone in the house. He was so perturbed he could hardly speak. He said I must run away with him instantly or he'd go mad with love of me. He tried to kiss me. It was terrible. I ordered him out of the house and I never saw him again. But I was awfully ill. Several days after I went to bed with brain fever. For weeks they despaired of saving me." Nan was pressing her aunt's hand hard. "And then?" "Nothing. When I got well, nothing seemed to matter much. Convalescence has that effect. From that day to this I've never been able to abide the smell of roses. But, my dear, I must go up to bed. I feel badly all day if I don't get my proper sleep ... Forgive my boring you with these old women's stories. We were very silly when I was a girl. How out of date I must seem to a generation brought up on Ibsen's plays." "Yes, our ideas are a little different nowadays," said Nan.