es, we will invite him, but I hope Eva will not think of
falling in love with him unless he should propose. Indeed, I think a
modest girl ought never to fall in love. It seems to me indecorous, at
least before marriage--after, they can do as they like about it. You
must warn Eva on the subject. If any other gentleman should ask for her,
she must not refuse, because we could not count on Highrank making up
his mind: I have an idea that he is too weak to form a resolution of any
kind."

I thought the old woman must be bilious. "Me a fool!"--a philosopher
rather. But I have always known that exalted worth is a fault in the
estimation of narrow-minded people, who can't appreciate it. Little Eva
has more sense--would like me to visit her: of course the poor child is
in love with me. I wish I could tease that ridiculous old lady in some
way. I have a confounded mind to run off with Eva. No, that, I fear,
would please Aunt Stunner. But I am missing all her trash: better
listen. It is really not worth getting heated over.

"The others I will see about," continued Aunt Jane. "It is very little
consequence who they are. Only one thing: I won't have that Hardcash
about: he and Eva have been entirely too much together."

"She is rough on Ned," thought I in ambush.

"I am afraid you won't be able to manage Eva, my dear Jane."

"Don't worry. When I have a duty to perform I go through with it. Let us
walk on to the summit."

"Just as you like: I am sufficiently rested, and we can talk as we go."

There was a rustling of silk and a crunching of gravel, and all was
quiet.

I lay there thinking for a long while: I wonder if my poor mother, were
she living, would take as much trouble to procure me a wife as Mrs.
Stunner is going to take to provide Eva with a husband. I wonder mothers
don't help their sons to marry, and let their daughters help themselves.
Girls are so much sharper about such things than men are. Everything is
against us. I suppose women think they deceive us for our good, but they
should continue to do so after marriage. 'Pon honor! I have seen the
sweetest, most amiable girl turn as sour as could be a few months after
the ceremony. The dressiest ones often get dowdy, the most musical can't
abide music, the most talkative have the dumps. A man has no chance of
judging how they are going to turn out. He is duped by the daughters,
inveigled by their mothers, and, what is worse still, as soon as he is
married they b