I answered; and I spoke the truth. I had
never thought to inquire.

"The Dale blood is not the very best in the world," she continued
presently, with her head bent over her work almost as though
soliloquizing. "As regards position they are well enough, but two of
this young man's uncles were extremely dissipated, and I fancy that the
father was not much to boast of. He died early, just after I was grown
up. I remember him though. He was a handsome creature."

I listened with glowing cheeks, but made no response.

"They have very little to live on I imagine," she observed nearly five
minutes later.

"Of whom are you speaking?" I inquired with dignity.

"The Dales, child, of course. It was generally supposed that Mrs. Dale
was left very poorly off. I believe her husband's life was insured for
something, and they own their house. Pussy always looks well dressed,
but they must have to scrimp in other ways."

Pussy Dale was Roger's eldest sister, a girl of just my age. They were a
family of five, four of whom were daughters.

"I don't see that their being poor is anything against them," I said a
little hotly.

"No-o," replied Aunt Helen reflectively, "perhaps not. But I don't know
what your father would say to him for a son-in-law."

"A son-in-law? You have no right to make such insinuations, Aunt Helen,"
I protested. "Mr. Dale and I are friends, and nothing more."

"I am glad to hear it, dear; for though I should try to reconcile myself
to whomever you chose, believing that a girl is the best judge of what
will contribute to her own happiness, I own frankly that I should be
better pleased with some one whose antecedents were a little more
creditable."

I gritted my teeth and sewed industriously in silence for the rest of
the evening. I felt injured, without scarcely knowing why. Aunt Helen's
accusations were vague at best. It was impossible for me to doubt Mr.
Dale. But on the other hand the idea of our marriage was not a serious
consideration. Still I felt annoyed and troubled, and I could not help
thinking of what my father and Aunt Agnes had said by way of warning.
But though I lay awake long that night I fell asleep at last, convinced
that Roger Dale was the noblest and sincerest soul alive, and that to
doubt him would be to wrong the sacred name of friendship.

This conversation took place in March; but in the next two months Mr.
Dale was so much at our house that I was not surprised when my father
aske