l, though the indignant outcry
had nearly forced itself from her lips. She remained silent until she
was sure of her voice; then said quietly, "Aunt Emily, there is some
mistake! Colonel Ferrers is over sixty years old; he was a dear friend
of my father's, and--and I have already written to my mother."

Mrs. Delansing was silent; Hildegarde saw through the screen of leaves a
movement, as if she put her hand to her brow. "Sixty years old!" she
repeated. "Wild Tom Ferrers,--sixty years old! What does it mean?
Then--then how old am I?"

There was a painful silence. Hildegarde longed for her mother; longed
for the right word to say; the wrong word would be worse than none, yet
this stillness was not to be endured. Her voice sounded strange to
herself as she said, crumbling her bread nervously:

"He is looking very well indeed. He has been in Washington with little
Hugh, his ward; he had been suffering a great deal with rheumatism, but
the warm weather there drove it quite away, he says."

There was no reply.

"Colonel Ferrers is the kindest neighbour that any one could possibly
have!" the girl went on. "I don't know what we should have done without
him, mamma and I; he has really been one of the great features in our
life there. You know he is a connection of dear papa's,--on the
Lancaster side,--as well as a lifelong friend."

"I was not aware of it!" said Mrs. Delansing. She had recovered her
composure, and her tone, though cold, was no longer like iced
thunderbolts.

"I withdraw my criticism of your conduct,--in a measure. But I cannot
refrain from saying that I think your time would have been better
employed in your room, than in gadding about the street. I was
distinctly surprised when Hobson told me that you had gone out. Hobson
was surprised herself. She has always lived in the most careful
families."

Hildegarde "saw scarlet." "Aunt Emily," she said, "blame me if you will;
but I cannot suffer any reflection on my mother. I do not consider that
it would be possible for any one to be more careful of every sensible
propriety than my mother is; though she does not mould her conduct on
the opinions of servants!" she added. She should not have said this, and
was aware of it instantly; but the provocation had been great.

"You admit that your mother is human?" said the old lady, grimly. "She
has faults, I presume, in common with the rest of humankind?"

"She may have!" said Hildegarde. "I have never observed th