In Which Aunt Frances Speaks of Matrimony as a Fixed Institution and is Met by Flaming Arguments; and in Which a Strange Voice Sings Upon the Stairs

Aunt Frances stayed until after the New Year. But before she went she
sounded Aunt Isabelle.

"Has Mary said anything to you about Porter Bigelow?"

"About Porter?"

"Yes," impatiently, "about marrying him. Anybody can see that he's
dead in love with her, Isabelle."

"I don't think Mary wants to marry anybody. She's an independent
little creature. She should have been the boy, Frances."

"I wish to heaven she had," Aunt Frances' tone was fervent. "I can't
see any future for Barry, unless he marries Leila. If he were not so
irresponsible, I might do something for him. But Barry is such a
will-o'-the-wisp."

Aunt Isabelle went on with her mending, and Aunt Frances again pounced
upon her.

"And it isn't just that he is irresponsible. He's---- Did you notice
on Christmas Day, Isabelle--that after dinner he wasn't himself?"

Aunt Isabelle had noticed. And it was not the first time. Her quick
eyes had seen things which Mary had thought were hidden. She had not
needed ears to tell the secret which was being kept from her in that
house.

Yet her sense of loyalty sealed her lips. She would not tell Frances
anything. They were dear children.

"He's just a boy, Frances," she said, deprecatingly, "and I am sorry
that General Dick put temptation in his way."

"Don't blame the General. If Barry's weak, no one can make him strong
but himself. I wish he had some of Porter Bigelow's steadiness. Mary
won't look at Porter, and he's dead in love with her."