eceding the
mortal inhabitants through the doors, and lingering behind them in
rooms where they had stayed.

Lucina started when the lavender breath entered the room, and looked
up as if at a ghostly herald. She toed out her two small morocco-shod
feet more particularly upon the floor, she smoothed down her own and
her doll's little petticoats, and she also made herself all ready to
rise and courtesy.

After the lavender sweetness came the whisper of silk flounces,
growing louder and louder; but there was no sound of footsteps, for
Aunt Camilla moved only with the odor and rustle of a flower. No one
had ever heard her little slippered feet; even her high heels never
tapped the thresholds. She had a way of advancing her toes first and
making the next step with a tilt, so soft that it was scarcely a
break from a glide, and yet clearing the floor as to her slipper
heels.

Lucina knew her aunt Camilla was coming down the stairs by the
rustling of her silk flounces along the rails of the banisters, like
harp-strings; then there was a cumulative whisper and an entrance.

Lucina rose, holding her doll like a dignified little mother, and
dropped a courtesy.

"Good-afternoon," said Aunt Camilla.

"Good-afternoon," returned Lucina.

"How do you do?" asked Aunt Camilla.

"Pretty well, I thank you," replied Lucina.

"How is your mother?"

"Pretty well, I thank you."

"Is your father well?"

"Yes, ma'am; I thank you."

During this dialogue Aunt Camilla was moving gently forward upon her
niece. When she reached her she stooped, or rather drooped--for
stooping implies a bend of bone and muscle, and her graceful body
seemed to be held together by integuments like long willow
leaves--and kissed her with a light touch of cool, delicate lips.
Aunt Camilla's slender arms in their pointed lilac sleeves and lace
undersleeves waved forward as with a vague caressing intent. Soft
locks of hair and frilling laces in her cap and bosom hung forward
like leaves on a swaying bough, and tickled Lucina's face, half
smothered in the old lavender fragrance.

Lucina colored innocently and sweetly when her aunt kissed her, and
afterwards looked up at her with sincerest love and admiration and
delight.

Camilla Merritt was far from young, being much older than her
brother, Lucina's father; but she was old as a poem or an angel might
be, with the lovely meaning of her still uppermost and most evident.
Camilla in her youth had been of