It stood close to the street, as is the case with so many
old houses in rural New England. It had a tiny brick strip of yard in
front, on which was set, on either side of the stoop, a great
century-plant in a pot. Above them rose a curving flight of steps to
a broad veranda, supported with Corinthian pillars, which were now
upright and glistening with white paint, as was the entire house.

"They had it all fixed up, inside and out," said Aunt Maria. "There
wasn't a room but was painted and papered, and a good many had to be
plastered. They did not get much new furniture, though. I should have
thought they'd wanted to. All they've got is awful old. But I heard
George Ramsey say he wouldn't swap one of those old mahogany pieces
for the best new thing to be bought. Well, everybody to their taste.
If I had had my house all fixed up that way, I should have wanted new
furniture to correspond."

"What is George Ramsey doing?" asked Maria, with a little, conscious
blush of which she was ashamed. Maria, all her life, would blush
because people expected it of her. She knew as plainly as if she had
spoken, that her aunt Maria was considering suddenly the advantages
of a possible match between herself and George Ramsey. What Aunt
Maria said immediately confirmed this opinion. She spoke with a sort
of chary praise of George. Aunt Maria had in reality never liked the
Ramseys; she considered that they felt above her, and for no good
reason; still, she had an eye for the main chance. It flashed swiftly
across her mind that her niece was pretty, and George might lose his
heart to her and marry her, and then Mrs. Amelia Ramsey might have to
treat her like an equal and no longer hold her old, aristocratic head
so high.

"Well," said she, "I suppose George Ramsey is pretty smart. They say
he is. I guess he favors his grandfather. His father wasn't any too
bright, if he was a Ramsey. George Ramsey, they say, worked his way
through college, used to be bell-boy or waiter or something in a
hotel summers, unbeknown to his mother. Amelia Ramsey would have had
a conniption fit if she had known that her precious boy was working
out. She used to talk as grand as you please about George's being
away on his vacation. Maybe she did know, but if she did she never
let on. I don't know as she let on even to herself. Amelia Ramsey is
one of the kind who can shut their eyes even when they look at
themselves. There never was a lookin'-glass made that cou