“Oh, does it? To be sure, he would have a secretary. Pity he is blind! And the secretary would be able to write a good letter. It’s not remarkable; clear, intelligent, a good letter. His secretary must need patience--and no other interests. I suppose he might be more likely to get that in a woman, but I should want a man. However, he can get a woman sufficiently trained for his requirements at a lower salary than a man’s. Anne Dallas, you said? Not a Cleavedge name. Where did he find her? I hope she doesn’t annoy him, but if she is ugly he can’t see it! It would be horrible to a poet to have an ugly woman under his beauty-loving eyes all day, week in, week out. I wonder--but of course you don’t know, you don’t visit Mr. Latham. She can’t be a Cleavedge woman, I should think?” Miss Carrington talked on lightly, not overdoing her carelessness, but with a voice silvery and indifferent. She watched Kit as she talked and saw him redden, trying boyishly to appear at ease. “She isn’t a Cleavedge girl; she came from Connecticut, Aunt Anne,” Kit said. “That’s a state I like!” Miss Carrington approved, heartily. “It’s odd--kindly, too--the present fashion of calling unattached women girls. The letter sounded mature. I suppose it is because she is earning her living that you speak of her as a girl. Is she a widow? Didn’t--no; you didn’t call her Miss Dallas.” “Good gracious, no; she isn’t a widow!” cried Kit, and instantly regretted his vehemence, for his aunt raised her eyebrows. “Miss Dallas is young; she is a girl, a girl with a lot of girlhood in her; the kind they used to call ‛maidenly,’ you know,” Kit continued. “I suppose you are forced to speak of maidenly as an obsolete term, Kit, my dear, because what it stood for is out of fashion,” observed Miss Carrington. She had found out all that she wanted to know for this time and was too wise to pursue the subject. “Of course I don’t for an instant mean that girls are at heart less maidenly. That is a quality necessary to every generation, if civilization is to continue. But the outward and visible sign of that special inward grace is not worn as it was. I confess to regretting it. I claim to be modern, but it really was in beautiful good taste. I suppose a few exceedingly well-bred girls will retain that efflorescence to the end of the chapter, but the present fashion gives such horrible scope to bad taste! I found Helen Abercrombie refreshing last summer when she visited us. There’s a well-bred girl!” “But hardly maidenly,” Kit could not refrain from saying, though he knew that it was indiscreet. “Miss Abercrombie is a finished product, of course, but she’s too--too---- Oh, well, you know, Aunt Anne! You’re an analyst of the first water! Too finished a product and up-to-the-minute, too architectural to be maidenly.”