"No, I cannot wait," replied Ruby fretfully. "Tell mamma to bring Uncle Bert with her." "If you have too much company your head will ache again, Ruby." "No, it will not. It is ever so much better. Why don't you do as I ask you, Mary?" cried the spoiled child. Golden went out without any further objection. She asked Celine, whom she met in the hall, to deliver Ruby's message to her mother and her uncle. Celine looked into the sick-room a minute later to say that they were engaged just at present, but would come in about fifteen minutes. "Oh, dear," fretted the ailing little one, "that is a long time to wait. Give me my dolls, Mary. I'll try to amuse myself with them." Golden brought the miscellaneous family of dolls and ranged them around Ruby on the bed, chatting pleasantly to her the while in the hope of lessening the weariness of waiting. "You must keep your promise and let me go out when they come," she said, presently, feeling that she was growing so nervous she could not possibly remain in the same room with Bertram Chesleigh. "Very well; you may go into the next room," replied the child. "You may leave the door just a little ajar that I may call you when I want you." "I hope you will not want me until they are gone out again," replied Golden. When the expected rap came on the door, the girl opened it with a trembling hand. She did not look up as Mrs. Desmond and her brother entered, but softly closing the door after them, glided precipitately from the room. Bertram Chesleigh saw the little, retreating figure in the huge cap and gray gown, and laughed as he kissed his little niece. "I suppose that was Mary Smith, the prodigy?" he said. "Yes, and you must not laugh at her," said Ruby, a little resentfully. "She is very good and sweet, and I love her dearly." There was an element of teasing in Bertram Chesleigh's nature, and Ruby's words roused it into activity. "She looked very prim and starched," he observed. "She must be an old maid--is she not, Ruby?" He expected that the little girl would grow indignant at this comment on her favorite, but instead of this she puckered her little brows thoughtfully. "I don't quite know what you mean by an old maid," she replied. "You are caught in the trap, Bert. You will have to define yourself," said Mrs. Desmond, laughingly. "I don't know whether I can," he replied as gayly. "But I think, Ruby, that an old maid is a person who--who doesn't like men, and grows old and never marries." "Then my nurse is an old maid. You guessed right, Uncle Bert," said the child, with perfect soberness. "Why do you think so, my dear?" inquired her mother, very much amused at the child's notion. "Because I know it, mamma. Mary Smith hates men. She told me she did. She does not like to be where men are. That is why she went out just now. She says she will always stay out of the room when Uncle Bert is with me."