at you were all by yourself," she
answered.

"You needn't have troubled about me," I said. "Nobody else does."

She laughed that quaint, quiet little laugh, which suits her. "That's
different. They're engaged to each other--all the rest of them. I'm
engaged--_by_ you."

"Don't let that engagement keep you from amusing yourself," I said. "The
bargain's off now. I hired an aunt to further my interests. Every one
else's have been furthered except mine."

"That's not my fault, is it?"

"I know it isn't," I assured her. "Don't think I'm finding fault with
you. On the contrary, you're really a marvelous being. But Othello's
occupation's gone."

"Yes," said she. "For both of us. I retire from aunthood, you retire
from nephewhood, with mutual respect, Is that it?"

"I suppose so," I gloomily replied. "Yet I'm loth to part with you,
somehow. You and Tibe are all I have left in the world. But now I
must lose you both."

"You don't need an aunt," she said.

"No, but I need some one; I don't know exactly who. Robert has snatched
one of my loves, Rudolph the other. What am I to do?"

"Come to the house and into my sitting-room, and let's talk it over,"
she suggested invitingly.

I obeyed.

There were flowers in her sitting-room. There always are. The scent of
late roses was sad, yet soothing.

"Excuse me a minute. I'm going into the next room to make myself pretty
before we begin our talk; but I won't be long, and Tibe shall keep you
company," said the L.C.P.

"You're well enough as you are," I said.

But she went, smiling; and I hardly missed her, I was so busy with my
own thoughts.

_One for you, and one for you, but never, never one for me?_

I must have hummed the words aloud, for her voice answered me, at the
door.

"Never's a long word, isn't it?"

I looked up.

A neat little figure stood on the threshold between the two rooms, the
same neat little figure I had seen constantly during the past eight
weeks. But it was not the same face. She had said, lightly, that she was
going to "make herself pretty," and she had. She had performed a
miracle. Or else I was asleep and dreaming.

The gray hair, folded in wings, was gone; the blue glasses were gone;
the big bow under the chin was gone. A pretty young woman was smiling at
me with the pretty little mouth I knew; but I did not know the bright
auburn hair, or the beautiful brown eyes that threw me an amazing
challenge.

"Good heavens!" I exclaime